


light my heart on fire

by hyungnyan



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: A/B/O, Alpha Hyunwoo, Alpha/Beta relationships, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, M/M, Slice of Life, Smut, beta hyungwon, business man hyunwoo, human disasters minhyuk wonho n jooheon, kihyun is mentioned once (one time), slowish burn slow burn, uni student hyungwon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-07
Updated: 2018-09-07
Packaged: 2019-07-08 06:51:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15925142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hyungnyan/pseuds/hyungnyan
Summary: chae hyungwon is trying to breeze through university as painlessly as he can, which includes not getting mixed up with alphas. son hyunwoo stumbles into his life with the usual grace and decorum.(beta hyungwon doesn't date and especially doesn't date alphas. alpha hyunwoo makes that hard to stick to.)





	1. pt. 1

**Author's Note:**

> it's so hard to believe this has been more than a year in the making. i could write 10 pages of thank you to all the people who encouraged me and how much help i've received from wonderful friends. i'd first like to thank san from the bottom of heart for always answering my messages, giving me advice, holding my hand through writing the worst parts of this fic, and always being patient with me. a huge thank you to lyndsey as well for helping me work out my ideas, always reading through my drafts and giving feedback, and never running out of encouragement when i felt low.
> 
> please enjoy!

“What’s that smell?” Minhyuk asks, hand halfway through a bag of barbeque chips, when Hyungwon slams the front door.

 

            Hyungwon throws his coat onto the nearest chair, nose wrinkling in disgust when he lifts the fabric to his face. “Studying with Wonho. It’s been three hours and I still smell like the fucking perfume aisle.”

 

            Minhyuk crumples the bag of chips on his lap before peering over the couch, squinting at the grocery bags tossed on the ground. “Did you go shopping too? Where’s my rice cakes?”

 

            Hyungwon’s response is a bag of half-frozen dumplings lobbed at Minhyuk’s face, just barely nicking his ear and skidding across the carpet. It doesn’t take long for Hyungwon to follow, slumping against the couch and sending a wave of pheromones towards Minhyuk. It’s enough to make Minhyuk gag a bit -- he likes the smell of omegas, sweet and floral and cloying, but Wonho smells like his grandma’s perfume to him -- they’ve been friends for so long that his scent not even slightly appealing anymore. It gets Wonho quite a bit of boyfriends but it also tends to cling to his friends, not aided by his tendency to rub against people and scent them accidentally. As a beta, Hyungwon doesn’t have a clear scent as much as he’s a sponge, soaking up particularly strong pheromones and that usually means Wonho, no matter how much distance he tries to keep.

 

            “Tell Wonho to stop draping himself all over you.” Minhyuk groans, slapping a hand over his nose and kicking Hyungwon away with a sharp jab to the knee. “Go take a shower. You seriously reek.”

 

            “Then I’m going to smell like you, which is almost as bad.” Hyungwon sighs back, curling his legs back towards his chest, eyes blurred in front of the television. He doesn’t like smelling like _either_ of them, preferring the clean smell of blankness he seems to carry, like the lingering scent of fabric softener and soap. That only seems to last as long as he’s out of the shower, until Minhyuk curls all his long limbs around him or Wonho presses to his side too tightly.

 

            “There’s nothing wrong with smelling like me.” Minhyuk sounds affronted, shoving his hand right back into his bag of smashed chips and scattering crumbs. “I’ve been told I smell very good.”

 

            “You smell like wet dog.” Hyungwon eyes Minhyuk’s chip-dusted fingers with apprehension, scooting further away on the couch. “It’s gross.”

 

            “Smelling like an alpha must be better than smelling like an omega.” Minhyuk argues, chewing with his mouth open. “The worst you get as an alpha is attention from omegas -- smelling like Wonho just gets second glances from horny mutts when you walk by.”

 

            “You’re one of those.” He argues back, ignoring Minhyuk’s look of faux hurt, gaze still half-focused on the television.

 

            Minhyuk licks the tips of his fingers, smearing them on Hyungwon’s thigh with a shit-eating grin. “Did you buy paper towels?”

 

            “You’re _disgusting_.” Hyungwon stares in disbelief at the streaks of red down his jeans. “I just bought these.”

 

            Minhyuk shrugs, barely dodging the pillow whipped in his direction and diving right back into his chips to scrape up the crumbs. Hyungwon slinks off the couch, unbuttoning his jeans on the way back to his room -- he’ll leave the groceries on the ground for Minhyuk to deal with, who probably won’t do a thing until the ice cream starts melting. Hyungwon wiggles out of his jeans, tossing them over his desk chair before sniffing his shirt again, trading it for something that doesn’t smell absolutely repulsive. At this point, half of his wardrobe should be burned in an outdoor fire, since Wonho and Minhyuk’s scent has permeated everything he owns like cigarette smoke. He’s due for laundry day soon, settling for sweatpants and a worn t-shirt that don’t smell particularly offensive unless somebody dislikes lavender fabric softener.

 

            He’s got a quiz on Monday morning and an essay due on Wednesday but all he wants to do is burrow his head under the pillow for a two-day nap. He spent the whole morning helping Wonho with his literature assignment and grocery shopping and kneeing some alpha who slid his hand up Hyungwon’s waist to ask why he was so so pretty and so so alone. Leave Minhyuk to do something that makes his temples pulse with a headache at only three in the afternoon -- he stifles a moan against his pillowcase and breathes in the smell of clean cotton, not dog fur or sharp perfume. It’s far too easy to fall asleep this way and he’s drooling by the time he wakes up again, Minhyuk’s hand insistently yanking his shoulder back and forth.

 

            “What the fuck do you want?” Hyungwon groans, licking his dry lips and the saliva pooled at the corner of his mouth.

 

            “Wonho tried calling you but you didn’t answer.” Minhyuk says, sprawling himself over Hyungwon like a starfish and trapping him against the sheets. “He wants to know if you can come back over.”

 

            “Get _off_ me.” Hyungwon flails feebly, his whine turning into a full on wail when Minhyuk rubs his cheek against his hair. “You’re _scenting me_!”

 

            “You’re just so warm and cute when you’re sleepy.” Minhyuk purrs, pressing a kiss to the crown of Hyungwon’s head before rolling off. “Now you smell good too.”

 

            Minhyuk has already skittered out of the room before Hyungwon has a chance to lob the lamp at him -- now the whole fucking room smells like cheap cologne and choking musk. He fumbles for his phone and squints at the screen, blowing out a stream of air when he sees how many messages Wonho has left for them, escalating in panic.

 

            _Wonho hyung:_ wait do we have an essay due wed for int relations??

 

            _Wonho hyung_ : hyungwon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 

            _Wonho hyung:_ we do

 

            _Wonho hyung_ : oh my god

 

            _Wonho hyung_ : please please pleas pleaselkelpleeeasee help me

 

            _Wonho hyung_ : hyungwon!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Are you sleeping

 

            _Wonho hyung_ : minhyuk said ur sleeping

 

            _Wonho hyung_ : call me when u wake up pls pls pls pls sorry i stuck the dog on u but pllleeasseeee help

 

            “Are you fucking kidding me?” Hyungwon mumbles into the mouthpiece when he finally calls Wonho, squinting up at the ceiling and staring at the cracks that fan out from his light. Wonho immediately spits out a rushed torrent of apologies, followed by a plea for Hyungwon to meet him in ten minutes with the promise of dinner. The annoyance that’s tight in Hyungwon’s chest loosens a bit at that, since it’s almost time to eat anyway and he’d never turn down a chance to make somebody else buy him seafood noodles.

 

            They agree to meet at some family restaurant two subway stops away from Hyungwon’s apartment, which is always quiet and dim on Saturday evenings. It was Minhyuk that’d first found it and it quickly became a regular spot for them in the evenings, between the cheap food and the fact that their main clientele is the elderly. It only takes a few weeks frequenting college bars and popular restaurants to get tired of being smashed body to body -- Hyungwon likes it here, even though half the customers yell because they’re missing a hearing aid. Wonho is already sitting in their corner booth, looking equal parts hungry and panicked, scribbling in his notebook.

 

            “Did you order yet?” Hyungwon slides into the booth across from him, pushing aside the menu. Wonho nods wordlessly, striking his pen across the sheet of paper and giving Hyungwon a look like a kicked puppy, which only succeeds in making Hyungwon actually want to kick him. Wonho has tendencies to wrap himself up in work for his classes that he actually cares about and neglect his required entry-level courses; he still has the gall to act surprised and upset when another deadline pops up. Hyungwon has to cut him some slack, given that Wonho recently changed his major and still struggles to adjust to his new workload. The reminder is enough to stop him from jabbing Wonho’s knee and grabbing his notebook instead, tilting the page towards the light.

 

            “Your topic sentence should not have this many commas.” Hyungwon says bluntly, crossing the whole thing off. “Why does your opening paragraph contradict your whole thesis?”

 

            Wonho drags a hand down his face, snatching his notebook back. “Why did you even come if you’re just going to make fun of me?”

 

            “I wouldn’t even be out of bed if you hadn’t said free dinner.” He picks at a piece of pickled radish set out on the table, chewing with the lethargy of still being half asleep. “Listen, just scrap the whole thing and let’s start with an outline.”

 

            Wonho exhales sharply -- he’s never been a fan of planning ahead -- before starting on a clean sheet of paper. “You smell kinda weird.”

 

            “Dog boy rubbed himself all over me.” Hyungwon mutters against another piece of radish, pointedly ignoring the delighted look Wonho gives him. “If I don’t smell like him, then I smell like you. I stink either way.”

 

            Wonho opens his mouth to speak again but snaps it closed when the waitress plunks their bowls in front of them, steam curling up in a way that’s especially comforting as it gets closer to winter. His attention is drawn towards devouring a particularly large slice of stewed potato and Hyungwon starts in on a piece of shrimp floating appealingly in red broth. He gets halfway through his rice and three oysters in before Wonho starts again, half-chewing and half-scribbling on the paper.

 

            “I’m never going to finish this in time.” He stares at his notes flatly, speckled with pepper sauce. “I don’t know anything about Chinese foreign policy.”

 

            Hyungwon hardly knows anything about it either but that’s not going to stop him from going home tonight and finessing a semi-decent essay from bullshit and some select textbook pages. Not that he’s going to tell Wonho either, because that means he’s probably going to get his free meal revoked out of spite. He hums something he hopes sounds like pity and slurps up a mouthful of clear bean noodles, burning the top of his mouth. Wonho sighs a few more times -- a big, heaving one for dramatic effect -- before pushing away his papers.

 

            “I give up. I’ll accept my failing grade.” Wonho looks so downtrodden that Hyungwon deposits a single shrimp, a gesture of goodwill, into his bowl. He think it’s why Wonho’s face lights up so brightly but it takes a few seconds to realize that his smile is directed over Hyungwon’s shoulder at somebody else. He takes the opportunity to steal his shrimp back before twisting around, blinking against the ceiling lights. Whoever it is, Hyungwon can smell him before he sees him -- sharp, smoky, and a bit sweet. Not bad for an alpha, who usually stink like wet fur and moss to him.

 

            Wonho’s friend is, to put it lightly, large. Even if he didn’t have the scent to work off, it’s obvious he’s an alpha: the tight swell of his arms underneath his blazer, the broadness of his shoulders, the strong and sharp features of his face. Then he smiles back at Wonho, eyes crinkling and mouth curled up sweetly, aiming that same softened expression towards Hyungwon. It’s disconcerting enough to make his stomach flip uncomfortably and turn back towards his soup, which doesn’t look as appealing as it did before, pools of oil floating on top.

 

            “I didn’t know you came here, Hyunwoo hyung.” Wonho chirps in surprise, face still lit up in excitement. “Don’t you live pretty far from here?”

 

            “Sometimes I get a craving for the stuff I used to eat in university.” Hyunwoo’s voice is surprisingly soft-spoken and low, enough that it jolts Hyungwon in surprise again -- it’s the scent, the scent that has to be making his nerves so frayed. “It’s worth the forty five minute subway ride.”

 

            “Did you want to eat with us?” Wonho nudges Hyungwon pointedly with his foot, a signal to make some room for Hyunwoo. “Hyungwon and I were just working on some stuff for class -- you know about Chinese foreign policy, right?”

 

            “Not at all.” Hyunwoo blinks back, fixing on Hyungwon again with a look of curiosity. “It’s nice to meet you, though. I’ve heard Wonho mention you a few times.”

 

            “He doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.” Hyungwon says pleasantly, ignoring a sheepish whine from Wonho. “He’s never mentioned you, though.”

 

            Hyunwoo laughs, a warm sound, while Wonho looks like he’s deeply regretting starting the whole conversation. “We were both interns at Lotte Capital two summers ago. My co-worker Kihyun introduced us when he heard we were from the same school -- all of us used to take our lunch breaks together.”

 

            Before he’d switched to a music major, Wonho had spent the first two years of university  chasing a finance degree, which almost seems like a parallel universe when Hyungwon thinks about it. It’s hard to think of the Wonho before now, who wore himself down with internships and networking and classes that squeezed him dry like a wrung towel. It’d been Wonho’s own mother that insisted he change his major and even though it set him a few years back from graduation, he’s flourishing comfortably. Hyunwoo is almost like a strange relic of the past, in the clean lines of his business suit.

 

            “I can’t stay, though. I ordered take-out before I came because I need to head back to Gangnam.” Hyunwoo looks sympathetic when Wonho’s face falls. “We could get coffee this week, though. Just give me a call.”

 

            Wonho only sits back down when Hyunwoo leaves with his order, beef brisket soup in a damp and sweaty plastic bag, and raises his eyebrows towards Hyungwon. “You were acting strange.”

 

            “I don’t like being around alphas.” Hyungwon murmurs, pushing his bowl away, Hyunwoo’s scent still heavy around him like cologne. “Minhyuk doesn’t count since he’s more like… a friendly lap dog.”

 

            “Hyunwoo is really nice, though. He was one of the few people at my internship that didn’t get all weird and hyper masculine about having an omega work there.” Wonho plays with a strand of his hair, face pinched in that look of exhaustion he used to get before he was a music major. “Nevermind the fact that I could have bench lifted them.”

 

            “I thought your muscles were all show.” Hyungwon reaches to give them a squeeze, feeling a flush of relief when Wonho’s expression lightens in response. “All they’re good for is flexing.”

 

            “You can be so mean to me.” Wonho whines, his lips quirked up in a half smile when he digs back into his food with relish. The tension lingers in Wonho’s shoulders and Hyungwon knows it probably won’t go away for years -- no matter the current social climate, omegas in alpha- and beta-dominated jobs are always dragged through the mud. All Hyungwon can do is give a half-smile back and hope that he’ll be okay again in the future.

 

\-----

 

            It’s two in the morning on Wednesday and Hyungwon needs coffee before he either pukes or passes out. It’s the punishment he deserves for putting off his own essay until the last minute, a five page shitpile of Japanese foreign policy articles from Google Scholar, and then remembering he’s supposed to have an annotated bibliography for his English Romantic Poetry class finished before eight a.m. Minhyuk is snoring in the next room, limbs draped over the couch and face buried in a throw pillow with the television muted. The more Hyungwon stares at him, the drool pooling at the corner of his mouth and the sleepy twitch to his limbs, the more jealous he gets. _Coffee_. He needs coffee.

 

            He regrets stealing the first jacket he saw in the closet -- it’s flimsy and the October wind cuts right through it, slipping up his sleeves and chilling his fingers. He sniffs the collar of it, still smelling faintly of Jooheon’s burnt sugar scent, before yanking it up over his face. He must have left it the last time he was here, a few weeks ago when the weather was still warm and this jacket would have done well against a mild breeze. Now that snow is coming soon in a few weeks, it might as well be like wearing tissue paper. However, living in a university area has its benefits and that’s the fact that Hyungwon can find a twenty-four hour coffee shop within a five minute walk. He settles on Cafe Namu this time, a second-story cafe a few feet away from the Sinchon subway exit, since it’s mostly frequented by omegas from the nearby campus.

 

            The first puff of warm air through the doorway feels as refreshing as a long nap. He sheds his jacket on the climb upstairs, the blood flowing in the tips of his fingers again by the time he presses through Cafe Namu’s glass door. As expected at two in the morning, the loudest sound is the steam from the espresso machine and a particularly loud mouth-breathing student taking a power nap in the nearest booth. Everybody else is clicking away at laptops, their faces ashen with exhaustion, or have their faces buried against the tabletop, asleep until the trains start again.

 

            He orders a black coffee and seats himself at the furthest table from the door, pressing his fingers to his temples -- it’s fine, it’s not his first all-nighter, although he’s practically useless on less than ten hours of sleep (all the time then, Minhyuk insists). He knows he’s in deep shit when the first sip of coffee doesn’t feel like a slap to the face, just burns his tongue a bit before settling like lead in his stomach. He might just puke instead of fall asleep but swallows back the nausea, trying to make the words on his laptop screen stabilize in front of him. _English Romantic Poetry. Annotated Bibliography. Don’t throw up_.

 

            He scrubs a hand over his face again when he realizes he’s been staring at his laptop screen for nearly twenty minutes now, trying to keep the taste of acid from crawling up his throat. There’s movement above him and a sharp, cologne-like smell -- Hyungwon looks up and knocks down his coffee cup when he sees Hyunwoo. A few people nearby startle, whipping around to narrow their eyes at him, and the sleeping boy near the front lets out a loud snore. In seconds, Hyunwoo is rolling up his sleeves and mopping up the spill with a handful of napkins, while Hyungwon tries to settle the unease in his stomach.

 

            “Christ, how long were you standing there?” Hyungwon croaks out, slipping to his knees to nudge Hyunwoo out of the way and sop up the rest of his spilled coffee. Hyunwoo looks sheepish, dumping a handful of soggy napkins into the trash before shifting awkwardly on his feet. It’s a bit strange, how Hyunwoo looks like the picture of an alpha -- tall, broad and tightly muscled, eyebrows pulled down tensely. And then his face softens into the wide-eyed, half-smile expression of an unsure kid, his stance easing into an awkward shift from one foot to another; it throws Hyungwon off and he doesn’t like that.

 

            “I thought I recognized you so I came-- just to say hi but you didn’t seem to notice.” Hyunwoo’s smile is strained, sounding more and more like he’s getting scolded. It’s a bit unsettling and Hyungwon clears his table to distract from Hyunwoo’s mollified face.

 

            “Sorry, I’ve been up all night trying to finish an assignment and was probably asleep with my eyes open.” Hyungwon mumbles back and makes a last minute gesture to the seat across from him. “Did you wanna--”

 

            “Sure.” Hyunwoo looks relieved at the first gesture from Hyungwon that isn’t inherently annoyed. “Can I buy you another coffee?”

 

            “Tea, please. If I drink more coffee, I’ll probably be sick.”

 

            Hyunwoo trails back to the counter, ordering off the menu with a furrow between his eyebrows -- funny how he only seems to look intimidating when he’s trying to decide if Hyungwon wants peach or citrus green tea. Whatever he decides on, it smells far more appetizing than black coffee which slid down his throat like lead; he ignores the packets of cream and sugar Hyunwoo sets down and swallows a burning mouthful. Peach -- from the little he knows about Hyunwoo, it’s fitting. Either way, he’s grateful to have something that doesn’t feel like a rock in his empty stomach.

 

            “You’re pretty far from Gangnam.” Sinchon and the rest of the major university subway stops -- Hongdae and Edae -- are all around a forty-five minute ride from Gangnam. Add the fact that Hyunwoo stands out in a student area wearing an expensive suit and tie; he seems a long way from home.

 

            Hyunwoo looks embarrassed. “You probably think I’m trying to relive my university days.”

 

            “Your track record isn’t looking good.” Hyungwon swipes a tongue over his lips, watches Hyunwoo’s expression go sheepish.

 

            “Some of my friends still live around here so we met for drinks.” Hyunwoo wipes a spill of coffee off the table with his thumb. “I lost track of time and barely missed the last train.”

 

            “And you came here?” Hyungwon finds that a bit hard to believe -- even from the outside, the place markets itself to a mostly omega student customer base. Between his tall stance as an alpha and the expensive cut of his suit, Hyunwoo stands out like a sore thumb. It’s not like Hyunwoo seems to notice, pleasantly squeezed into the tiny booth across from Hyungwon and nursing his Americano.

 

            “I actually got coffee here with Wonho on Monday so when I missed my train, this was the only place I could remember that was open 24 hours.” Hyunwoo’s appearance here makes a lot more sense now -- Wonho camps at Cafe Namu between classes and work, nursing iced coffee and squinting at his laptop. It’s a popular on campus for students who want to study quietly during lunch breaks and at night, a safe spot at night for omegas and the occasional beta who’ve missed their train or need to pull an all-nighter. It’s natural that Wonho would choose this place to meet at for coffee, given the fact that half of his paycheck should be deposited directly into their cash register.

 

            Hyungwon slides his thumb along the rim of the cup, giving Hyunwoo an unsure smile. “Do you mind if I just-- I came here to finish an assignment so… but you don’t have to leave, just stay there.”

 

            “Yeah, of course, I’m sorry. I need to read a few emails anyway.” Hyunwoo says, the tips of his ears going a bit red. Things come a bit easier now that Hyungwon is warmed from tea and has Hyunwoo to make sure he doesn’t face plant into his keyboard. Hyunwoo looks as tired as him, face puffy and the skin under his eyes the color of a bruise -- even his scent seems somewhat deflated, like perfume that’s worn off over the day. Hyungwon almost feels bad when he finishes his work and packs up, like he’s abandoning a lost pet to fend for itself.

 

            “I’m going to head home and-- try to sleep, maybe.” Hyungwon drains the last of his tea, holding up the empty cup. “But thank you for the tea and sorry for yelling at you.”

 

            “It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Thanks for sitting with me.” Hyunwoo smiles, sleepy and crinkling his eyes. “Be careful on your way home.”

 

            “You too.” He offers what he hopes is a smile and not a half-asleep grimace, tossed over his shoulder on the way out.

 

 It’s still bitterly cold outside and it does nothing but make him more lethargic, watching his feet stamp over footprints left in the frost. The wind has calmed down, although it rattles through the trees occasionally and slips under the fabric of his sweatpants. It’s the kind of chill that doesn’t seem to leave him even when he’s toeing out of his shoes in the apartment, clings to the thin fabric of his jacket. It smells faintly like Hyunwoo now, smoky cologne, and a bit of lingering sweetness from Jooheon -- almost comforting, like something familiar and safe. Minhyuk lets out a snore on the couch, startling Hyungwon back into shedding his layers and padding to his bedroom to curl under the comforter.

 

He tangles his legs together, trying to warm them against the cool sheets. Part of him wonders if Hyunwoo got home safely -- it’s not worry, because men like Hyunwoo don’t have to worry about going home alone. Hyunwoo might be thinking the same thing right now, eyes drooping at Cafe Namu, hoping Hyungwon is home safe and not swept away in a particularly hard gust of wind. There’s a certain relief he feels around Hyunwoo, even having known him for such a short period of time, the same feeling he gets around Minhyuk -- it’s ease. The feeling of needing to be on guard around alphas dissolves easily around Hyunwoo, allows him to retract his claws a bit.

 

Exhaustion settles into his bones and he melts against the sheets, sufficiently warmed. It’s easy to sleep now -- he hopes the same rest comes as easily to Hyunwoo, cramped in a tiny cafe booth.

 

\---------

 

“I can’t fucking believe you stayed up all night doing that bibliography and then slept through class.” Minhyuk looks absolutely delighted by this news. “You didn’t set an alarm.”

 

“I forgot.” Hyungwon moans, scrubbing at his eyes and stabbing a fork through his salad. “Professor Song let me turn it in for late credit since it was already finished but I needed those points.”

 

Minhyuk takes this, much like he usually does, as an opportunity to tangle himself around Hyungwon and comfort him. Trying to feebly wiggle out of his grip does nothing so Hyungwon makes a single noise of protest before going limp, letting himself be nuzzled. This is all part of his charm, Minhyuk claims, although Hyungwon only gives in because he’s too weak to properly kick him off. He only pulls off after giving Hyungwon’s neck a hard sniff, narrowing his eyes in suspicion.

 

“What alpha’s scent is on you?” Minhyuk mutters, lifting the collar of Hyungwon’s t-shirt to smell before he gets slapped away. “When did you meet another alpha?”

 

“It’s Wonho’s friend, Hyunwoo.” Hyungwon answers, flinching away when Minhyuk tries to yank him back over. “Stop that, what’s wrong with you?”

 

“I hate when you smell like other alphas.” He’s _pouting_. Hyungwon is a second away from putting his fork into Minhyuk’s thigh. “You don’t like to be around them, it’s weird when you smell like that.”

 

Ever since Minhyuk presented in high school, his affection found new expression in scenting -- he seems to enjoy the act of rubbing his scent onto his belongings, even his friends. It’s fine, given that Hyungwon’s heard he has a pleasant alpha scent, but he personally finds it reeking of damp fur and cheap cologne. Maybe he’d like it more if it actually lasted on him but it’s easily overpowered when Hyungwon spends too much time with an omega; Minhyuk’s scent is nothing compared to the choking perfume smell omegas tend to leave on him. He’s well protected from alphas when he leaves the apartment smelling like Minhyuk but a bit of time spent with Wonho or bumping too many shoulders with his omega classmates leaves him smelling sickeningly sweet and stifling again.

 

“He was at the coffee shop last night. Made me spill my Americano.” Hyungwon digs back into his shrimp salad, which is now mostly a bed of damp lettuce since he’s eaten all the seafood off it. “Is it noticeable?”

 

“Not really. Only if you get close.” Minhyuk makes another attempt to drag him back by his waist but Hyungwon raises an elbow in response, ready to smack him in the face. “You usually just smell like Wonho or Jooheon.”

 

“Great.” Hyungwon exhales sharply, pushing his salad away. “I’m going to class now.”

 

Minhyuk chirps out something that sounds like _goodbye_ , except his mouth is already stuffed full of the salad Hyungwon left behind on his tray. If Hyungwon makes it through this last class, he can tuck all of his responsibilities into a far corner and sleep until tomorrow. His seminar in Asian American writers is usually lax and spent with Jooheon, who is cheerful and doesn’t mind Hyungwon pilfering his notes when he’s forgotten to take them. He’s already waiting in their usual seats, feet resting on Hyungwon’s seat and slumped forward on the desk. It doesn’t take a genius to guess he’s had a long night as well.

 

“Here, I have a gift for you.” Hyungwon says and whips Jooheon’s jacket in his face. Jooheon grimaces, shaking it out in front of him before looking considerably cheered up.

 

“I’ve been looking everywhere for this.” He slips his arms through it, tugging it close.

 

“Sorry, I wore it last night.” He snatches Jooheon’s notes from last week off the desk and scans through them. “When did she talk about half this stuff? Were we supposed to read _Native Speaker_ by now?”

 

Jooheon fixes him with a worried glance. “You haven’t started it yet?”

 

Hyungwon groans, flickering his eyes back towards the front of the room where Professor Kim is unpacking her bag and giving her students a look that makes them quiet. Despite being petite and friendly-faced, she borders on terrifying when she’s ready to start class -- Kim Hyunji is probably one of the few alphas Hyungwon actually fears. As soon as she launches into a lecture on _Native Speaker_ , Hyungwon tunes out; he’s fucked anyway, the book still sitting in its plastic wrap from the campus bookstore back at home.

 

The last few weeks have been a race without a finish line in sight -- if it’s not an essay, it’s a chapter summary and if it’s not a chapter summary, it’s day after day of quizzes. His winter semesters usually turn out like this, assignments getting neglected and then swept under the rug in favor of more pressing ones. There’s something about the shorter days, the sleepiness that comes hand in hand with the cold; it makes him lethargic and unable to keep his priorities straight.

 

“Quote write-ups are due next Monday. One paragraph for each -- be succinct in your writing. I don’t want the basics and I don’t want you to harp on for three pages about some made up symbolism.” Professor Kim raises her eyebrows. “Have a good weekend and stay warm.”

 

The class breaks with the hum of moaning over the assignment and shoving books into their bags. Hyungwon stays slumped in his seat, eyes fuzzed over with exhaustion -- his afternoon nap is cancelled in favor of finishing the book and digging for some sort of meaningful quotes. He unfurls himself from the chair after a minute, following Jooheon out the classroom door where Wonho is shifting back and forth on his feet, clutching a cup of coffee. Wonho’s class is in the music hall next door and lets out 10 minutes before their own, enough time to camp himself outside the door waiting for them.

 

“Where’d you get this?” Wonho asks, rubbing the fabric of Jooheon’s jacket between his fingers. “Are you going to be warm enough?”

 

“Left it at Hyungwon’s a while ago but I’m fine, I’ve got a sweater under it.” Jooheon mutters, yanking the collar up towards his face when they step outside. The sun is gone behind thick, gray clouds like smoke plumes and the cold is dry enough to make Hyungwon’s throat ache each time he breathes in. They move huddled together, shoulders knocking and fingers shoved deep in their pockets to keep from going blue. Jooheon tugs his jacket up again to cover the tip of his reddening nose, inhaling sharply before pausing, breathing in again.

 

“Why does this smell so _weird_?” Jooheon’s eyes are wide, flitting between the handful of jacket he’s holding and Hyungwon. “Hyung, smell this.”

 

Wonho leans over, presses his cool cheek to Jooheon’s neck and breathes in deeply. “It smells like Hyunwoo.”

 

            Hyungwon tries his best to keep his expression level, especially when Wonho gives him a look that could melt the skin right off his bones. Jooheon shoulders his way back between the two of them, voice bordering on a whine. “Hyunwoo? Who’s Hyunwoo?”

 

            “A friend of mine.” Wonho says slowly, eyes still fixed on Hyungwon’s profile. “An alpha I interned with before.”

 

            Jooheon is sweet but sometimes, Hyungwon just wants to slap a hand over his mouth and suffocate him. “Since when do you hang around alphas, hyung?”

 

            “Ran into him last night at Cafe Namu.” Hyungwon huffs back, curling his fingers in his pocket. “Why are you getting all worked up for?”

 

            “Hyunwoo must be pretty nice if you’re hanging out with him.” Jooheon shrugs. “What were you doing at Cafe Namu so late?”

 

            “Forgot I had an annotated bibliography due for my poetry class.” He yawns into his scarf, eyes stinging from the cold. “Which I got late credit for because I slept through the first 50 minutes by accident.”

 

            Jooheon pats his shoulder sympathetically while Wonho gurgles out a mouthful of coffee mid-laugh, making the group of girls in front them shriek and bound forward a few steps. Nothing cheers him up more than watching Wonho make a fool of himself, pawing at the coffee stains dripping down his new cream-colored sweater, while Jooheon half-heartedly dabs at one and makes it worse. Hyungwon’s in a far better mood by the time he breaks with them at the edge of campus, curling his toes inside his boots as he walks back to his apartment. He should have worn warmer socks -- he likes fall but he’s thin and reed-like, never warm enough even hidden under layers of coats and scarves. Despite their outrageously increasing heating bills with each month, Hyungwon is now grateful for Minhyuk’s tendency to keep the apartment warm when he steps through the doorway.

 

            He has a running list in his head: look up _Native Speaker_ summary online, flip through some pages to find a quote, start on an outline for his course on classic Korean novels. It’s hard to focus -- warm spaces tend to make him sleepy, like a cat, and the only thing on his mind is curling on the couch to pass out for a few hours. He tosses himself on the couch, legs curled towards his chest, and flicks through his phone to scan a quick novel synopsis. It takes all of five minutes but it’s enough to buoy him in class until he can properly read it, ten minutes and he’s dug up a few quotes that he can convincingly wax about for a few paragraphs. It only puts a dent in his responsibilities but it leaves him feeling sated and comfortable enough to close his eyes for a few minutes.

 

            It’s as if Wonho has a sixth sense for interrupting Hyungwon’s plans. He fishes his vibrating phone out from under the couch cushion, slapping his palm down haphazardly to pick up the call. “ _What_ do you want?”

 

            “Why are you so mad?” Wonho huffs, his side of the conversation crackling -- it sounds like he’s walking against the wind. “Did I wake you up or something?”

 

            “No, I was trying to catch up on some assignments.” Hyungwon’s lie doesn’t slip easily between his teeth, voice obviously slurred from being on the edge of a nap. “If you forgot about another essay, you’re out of luck because I don’t have time.”

 

            “I’m not always trying to suck up to get your help.” There’s a whine to his voice. Hyungwon just wants to sleep. “Get off your high horse.”

 

            “I will when you stop sucking up to get help.” Hyungwon groans, eyes fixed on the cracks in the ceiling. “What do you want?”

 

            “Wanted to invite you out for barbecue on Friday night but since you were so mean, the offer is retracted.” Wonho seems in the mood for dramatics but Hyungwon just wants to sleep. “So you’re uninvited.”

 

            “See you on Friday.” Hyungwon mutters, listens to Wonho’s squawk of protest before hanging up. He’ll probably receive a barrage of text messages reminding him he’s _uninvited_ and then a final one on Friday afternoon, reminding him they’re getting dinner. He rolls back over, slotting his face in the space between the couch cushion and pillow and sleeps like death.

 

\-----------

 

            Their favorite barbecue place is all the way in Suyu, a forty minute subway ride from Sinchon. Some friend of a friend of a friend’s uncle owned the place -- Hyungwon doesn’t quite remember the whole story but the price is easy on their wallets and the meat is good quality. They’ve been going here since his freshman year, packed into the furthest corner where they bump shoulders trying to grill meat and bang elbows trying to squeeze into group photos. Nights usually end with somebody being helped out the door, their breath heavy with soju, while the rest try to make the last train back home.

 

            Hyungwon had tried to duck out of their plans this time but then Minhyuk had gotten himself invited, insisting on taking the same train as him. So instead of taking a post-class nap on Friday evening, Hyungwon spends forty minutes listening to Minhyuk whine about his required biology class and trying to breathe through his mouth because of a particularly pungent alpha scent in their train car. Wonho and Jooheon are waiting for them in the station, flanked by a lanky beta freshman named Changkyun that they share a music class with. Hyungwon’s met him before; he’s awkward and charming, easy to get along with once he opens up a bit more. His beta scent is less subtle than Hyungwon’s as well, which makes him stink less like Wonho and Jooheon all the time -- he’d be bitter if Changkyun wasn’t so likable.

 

            “So, you’re going to pay, right?” Minhyuk chirps, knocking Wonho’s ankle with his foot and beaming when he nearly faceplants into the cement. “Oops. Sorry, hyung.”

 

            “Disrespectful brat.” Wonho mutters, dusting at his jeans. “Doesn’t the alpha usually pay?”

 

            “I thought the oldest pays for food and the youngest pays for drinks.” Jooheon looks pointedly at Changkyun, who pales and fumbles for his wallet. He clearly looks like the kind of student that has three thousand won in his bank account at all times. Minhyuk whoops happily, tightening his grip around Hyungwon’s shoulders -- seeing as he’s never the oldest or youngest in the group, he can accept plans freely knowing his food is free. It’s only out of friendship and an obligation to make sure he doesn’t starve that his hyungs continue to foot the bill, even when Minhyuk orders a third serving of gopchang.

 

            As expected on a Friday night, it’s packed with students from nearby universities and older men who yell over the noise, their table cluttered with half-empty soju bottles. They have to huddle in the doorway together while they wait for their usual corner to be cleared of tipsy students from the nearby women’s university and then wiped down quickly. It’s crowded and Hyungwon can hardly reach for a piece of pork belly without nearly getting Wonho’s elbow in his face but it’s the first time he’s felt relaxed the whole week. Changkyun can also bitingly put Minhyuk back into his place and that’s almost as warming as their meal. Their waitress is scraping a plate of pork belly and green onion onto their grill when Hyunwoo arrives, squeezing between chairs and giving Hyungwon an unsure smile after he greets Wonho.

 

            “Now I don’t have to pay.” Wonho looks overjoyed, piling Hyunwoo’s empty plate with the burnt ends of their gopchang from before. “Eat up, _hyung_.”

 

            “Is this the only reason you invited me to dinner?” Hyunwoo doesn’t look too downtrodden, smile crooked and hair messy from the subway ride over. “What else did you order?”

 

            “More gopchang-- probably chicken next.” Wonho slurps at a spoonful of tofu soup, the bowl precariously next to his elbow and ready to be pushed off at a sudden movement. “Oh, these are my friends-- well, you know Hyungwon already. That’s Minhyuk, Jooheon, and Changkyun. This is Hyunwoo, my hyung from when I interned at Lotte Capital and he’s going to pay for all of our food.”

 

            Hyunwoo’s eyes curl into half-moons with an exasperated grin. “When you graduate, you’re taking me out for dinner.”

 

            “The young have to look out for the elderly.” Wonho quips, looking very moved by his own words and Hyunwoo laughs loudly, wrapping an fatty piece of pork belly inside a lettuce leaf. He looks like he’s been wrung out from the day, suit wrinkled and one eye more tired than the other, but his whole face seems to light up whenever Minhyuk makes a stupid joke or Changkyun asks him about his job. They take easily to him -- Hyunwoo is likable and friendly, eases into the flow of their conversation without a hitch and quiets only to laugh or devour another lettuce wrap. Hyungwon doesn’t know how he’s supposed to feel about Hyunwoo right now, pressed to his side and smelling his scent over that of charred meat and garlic. He settles for keeping to himself, smiling when prompted and digging his spoon into the mash of purple rice and burnt onion in his bowl.

 

            “Did you end up finishing your homework on time?” Hyunwoo mumbles next to him, almost looking as if Hyungwon’s silence is a wall he isn’t allowed to cross. Hyungwon’s stomach curls and he forces out what he hopes is a kind expression, although Hyunwoo looks even more reluctant than before to have engaged him.

 

            “I did but then I slept through my class and got late credit.” Hyungwon rolls his eyes when Minhyuk grins, interrupting to tell Hyunwoo that this sort of thing isn’t a one time occurrence. “Why are you laughing? Didn’t you attend a class for like two weeks that you weren’t even enrolled in?”

 

            Minhyuk immediately deflates, looking like he’s been kicked. “Well, I felt like I learned a lot about German business ethics.”

 

            “His major is secondary education, for reference.” Hyungwon reaches to snag a crispier piece of pork from Jooheon’s plate. “So he spent two weeks thinking he somehow belonged there.”

 

            “You can be so mean.” Minhyuk sighs, as if he didn’t just try to throw Hyungwon under the bus, and returns to his food with gusto. Hyunwoo shakes his head, giving Hyungwon a smile before trying to grab a particularly fatty cut of beef from under Wonho. Hyungwon spends the rest of his night watching Minhyuk try to match Hyunwoo in drinking soju (which is disastrous, given Minhyuk’s alcohol tolerance is one beer) and stacking the endless amount of plates that seem to gather on their table. By the time they’ve finished grilling everything they ordered, Wonho looks close to throwing up and Changkyun and Jooheon are teetering on the edge of passing out.

 

            Hyunwoo pays the check, giving them a smile when they all hurry to thank him (he already fits so well into their group dynamic, politely dodging Minhyuk when he attempts to toss himself onto Hyunwoo in gratitude). Hyungwon and Hyunwoo are the only ones sober enough to take the train home -- they load the rest up into a taxi and make sure Changkyun, squeezed between two drunk hyungs, is awake enough to parrot out their dorm address. And then he’s alone with Hyunwoo again, standing on the curb with his hands shoved into his pockets against the cold, trying to look anywhere but him.

 

            “Did you want to walk with me to the subway or were you planning on catching a taxi for yourself?” Hyunwoo asks, hunched against the cold in his suit jacket.

 

            “Subway.” Hyungwon loops his scarf around his neck carefully, eyes still averted. “We can walk together, sure.”

 

            “You don’t have to speak formally to me.” Hyunwoo smiles, ducking his head while they cross under a tree. “I’d prefer if you didn’t, honestly.”

 

            “Oh-- sure, yeah.” Hyungwon murmurs back. Using informal speech with Hyunwoo feels heavy on his tongue, like he has a mouth full of cotton. Hyunwoo is older and seems to have his life figured out to a tee, with a nice finance degree and Gangnam job under his belt. Hyungwon can’t even remember what he had for breakfast that morning -- speaking informally to Hyunwoo just doesn’t sit right in his mouth, caught in his throat.

 

            “So are you a senior?” Hyunwoo blinks up against the neon lights -- it’s late at night but it’s Friday, which means the streets are bustling far more than they were earlier in the evening.

 

            “Junior.” Hyungwon picks at the fleece of his scarf before realizing he might have come off as too abrupt, dismissive. “I’m a double major - hospitality business and literature.”

 

            “What do you want to do with that?” Hyunwoo crosses his arms over his chest against the wind. “Sorry -- forget it, you probably get asked that by every relative at holidays.”

 

            Hyungwon forces a smile. “I do but it’s fine. I don’t really know, to be honest. I should go the academic route but that’s not something I’m interested in. The business major is just to get me a job.”

 

            “You don’t have to know. If you want to find work with your minor and do something like poetry on the side, that’s fine.” Hyunwoo weaves past a couple taking a photo together on the sidewalk. “If you decide in your senior year that you hate literature and want to start a new major like Wonho, that’s fine too.”

 

            “I think I’ll be fine -- I don’t mind my hospitality business classes. I know it’s not practical to get a literature degree if I don’t plan on being a professor or something.” Hyungwon shrugs, rolling his eyes when Hyunwoo rubs at his forearms. “Are you cold or something? Why didn’t you bring a jacket?”

 

            Before Hyunwoo can answer, Hyungwon unwraps his scarf, draping it around Hyunwoo’s shoulders with finality. “It’s not much but you look a little pathetic shaking in the cold like that.”

 

            “Thank you.” Hyunwoo loops it around his neck, trying not to make a fuss out of the gesture since Hyungwon seems like the type to dislike that sort of attention. “I usually just go from work to the subway -- my house is by the station. Wonho invited me out last minute.”

 

            “He tends to do everything last minute. He thinks it’s part of his charm.” Hyungwon follows Hyunwoo down the stairs, shoulder crushed against the wall as thrums of students surge upstairs to meet their friends. He loses Hyunwoo in the crowd, tries following his scent and the flash of his own red scarf between bodies. It takes a few minutes but he finally finds Hyunwoo rocking on his heels outside of a Nature Republic that’s closed for the day, grates pulled over the door. Hyungwon’s throat feels tight when the furrow in Hyunwoo’s eyebrow melts, going from strong-browed alpha to something softer, sweeter. It throws him off guard, that wide-eyed look of relief Hyunwoo gives him when he pushes between two girls loitering at the staircase.

 

            “We’ll be on the same train till Dongdaemun Stadium.” Hyunwoo notes when he presses his phone to the card reader and pushing through the entrance. “I’ll give you back your scarf before we split.”

 

            “Don’t worry about it, you can just return it later.” Hyungwon trails after, hastening his steps when he hears the train brake on the rails. They stumble down the stairs together, packing themselves into a full train while the doors close behind them -- the mix of clothing in here is eclectic, from suits to puffy winter jackets to mini skirts whose hems are constantly being tugged down. Hyunwoo squeezes out from behind a grandmother a foot smaller than him, who fixes him with a grimace as he knocks against her bag. He reminds Hyungwon a bit of a gentle giant, fumbling around kindly without remembering his size or strength.  It’s that thought which makes Hyungwon actually return the smile, exhausted and worn at the edges, that Hyunwoo gives him.

 

            “This is why I tried to get out of dinner tonight.” Hyungwon watches the tunnel flash by outside the train windows and tries not to wince hard when somebody steps on his foot. “The subway ride back is always the worst.”

 

            “You should have taken the taxi back with them.” Hyunwoo doesn’t sound too convincing, since it seems like he’s enjoying this time with Hyungwon anyway, cheeks pressed against the glass as the crowd pushes them back further. “I wouldn’t minded.”

 

            “It’s fine. Minhyuk probably would have thrown up on me.” Hyungwon stumbles, steadied by Hyunwoo’s hand on his waist. “Fuck, sorry.”

 

            “Don’t apologize.” Hyunwoo’s hand drops as quickly as it appeared. “When should I give your scarf back then?”

 

            “We keep running into each other, I’m sure I’ll get it back soon.” Hyungwon tilts his head, gazing at Hyunwoo tiredly -- now that warm food has settled in his stomach, all he wants to do is sleep instead of transferring lines at Dongdaemun Stadium. Hyunwoo looks close to falling asleep too, with his hair ruffled and shoulders slumping under the wrinkled lines of his suit jacket. A single person gets on at Hyehwa station and an old woman wobbles out on her cane, disappearing when the doors shut across her silhouette. The rest of the crowd shifts, tucking phones in their bags and pulling out scarves and hats, ready to make their line change. Hyunwoo has one more stop till he can switch to Line 3 for Apgujeong so he stays in place, one eye half-open from exhaustion, and waves at Hyungwon while he rushes out to catch his Line 2 train.

 

            Hyungwon looks back when he hears the door close behind him, glimpses the own bright red of his scarf between faces before Hyunwoo is gone. The train back home is colder and quieter and he watches blearily the change of people in his car from stop to stop. Hyunwoo’s scent holds onto his clothes, the heat from his hand on Hyungwon’s hip -- these sorts of interactions always seem to hang in the air like smoke on nights like this. It still clings to him when he slips off his train and between students on the street, the crowd thinning as he slinks between alleyways towards his apartment building.

 

Minhyuk isn’t home, probably crashing at Jooheon’s dorm, so the lights are off when he nudges the front door open. He doesn’t bother to turn them on, slinking through the halls in the dark and stripping out of his sweater and jeans. His clothes smell like their dinner, smoke and grease, like alcohol and the crowd on the train and Hyunwoo. He throws it all in the laundry and slips under the bed sheets, pulls the comforter tight to his chin; the chill from tonight aches deep enough to be felt in his bones. If he focuses enough through the haze of sleep, he thinks he can still feel a bit of warmth on his hip, like it burns under his skin.

 

\---------------------

 

Despite what Hyungwon said, he doesn’t run into Hyunwoo again for a long time. He only thinks about it two weeks later, digging through his closet to find his red scarf before he belatedly remembers leaving it on the subway -- _no_ , he didn’t, he gave it to Hyunwoo. It’s ten minutes until class so he settles with nothing and takes off into the snow, an unwelcome visitor in these last few days. Snow means the approaching end of the semester and a few weeks of blissful vacation, which Hyungwon intends to celebrate by sleeping for 72 hours straight on the couch. It also means an impending exam week ahead of him and it shows in the puffiness of his face, the way he’s thinned down even more on a diet of iced coffee and shrimp chips.

 

Tuesday is his class on hospitality finance -- he takes a seat in the back, just in case he falls asleep on his textbook. The last few days have been a dangerous mix of staying up to study and power napping between classes, which just ends up leaving him dizzy and unable to remember the material he was trying to memorize. The only thing that keeps his head steady is the occasional meeting with Wonho or Jooheon for lunch, real food that makes him feel less like he’s full of helium. The only thing that keeps him from slipping into another mid-class nap is his phone lighting up, vibrating across the pages of his book and earning him a _shush_ from the girl in front of him that’s studiously taking notes. The number isn’t familiar and there’s a part of him that always worries unknown numbers will be hospitals trying to tell him Minhyuk got hit by a car or fell down a sewer grate.

 

“Hello?” He slips out classroom doors, feeling Professor Lee’s eyes burning through his back. There’s a crackle at the other end and then the clearing of a throat.

 

“Hi-- Is this Hyungwon?” The friendly, unsure tone Hyunwoo seems to take with everybody comes out muffled. He sounds like he’s walking somewhere -- Hyungwon is more focused on the pinch in his stomach he gets when he recognizes Hyunwoo’s voice.

 

“Yeah, it is.” Hyungwon lowers his voice when a group of students breeze by, taking a seat at an abandoned study table. “How are you?”

 

“I’m fine-- I hope you don’t mind, I got your number from Wonho.” Hyunwoo sounds a bit frazzled. “I was getting ready this morning and put on your scarf and then-- remembered I still had it. I was wondering if you wanted to meet so I could return it.”

 

“Sure, that’s… yeah, we can meet. My class ends at eleven and then I’m free.” Hyungwon twists a piece of thread from his ripped jeans between his fingers, glancing towards the door. He’s probably missing something important that’s going to end up on their final exam but he’s _tired_ and Hyunwoo is a good distraction from all of that, listening to his voice crackle through the speaker.

 

“I could meet you for lunch. I’ll pay since I’ve monopolized your scarf the last two weeks.” The little choked feeling he gets about spending time alone with Hyunwoo again is overshadowed by _free lunch_ because he hasn’t eaten well since Saturday, coasting along on convenience store kimbap and fruit snacks pilfered from Jooheon’s bag.

 

“I can meet you outside the Hyundai building at eleven thirty.” Hyungwon pulls back from his phone and glances at the clock -- it’s only ten and some minutes right now. “I have to get back to class but I’ll see you then.”

 

            Returning to his lecture is a waste anyway -- having missed the beginning, the rest just tangles up until it causes a nice headache to throb at his temples. He’ll get a grip on things eventually and a meal is a good reprieve from it all; a decent lunch will make him feel solid again, less like his limbs are trying to go in separate directions. The walk from the university gates to Sinchon is marked by a path of students racing across the intersection to catch their bus or get lunch, boots crunching on compacted snow. He’s a bit early but Hyunwoo is already waiting, hands shoved into the pockets of his topcoat, a dusting of snow on his shoulders. His own red scarf is hanging around Hyunwoo’s neck, the ends fluttering a bit whenever a gust of wind sweeps through the plaza outside the Hyundai Building. Hyunwoo smiles in greeting and Hyungwon returns it, half-hearted from the cold.

 

            “I’m hungry -- there’s a tofu stew place up the road I like.” Hyungwon blinks snow from his lashes, crossing a slushy intersection in step with Hyunwoo. It’s the snow, the melted brown sludge by the sewer, the biting cold that turns skin numb; he hates winter. There’s a lethargy to it, a feeling as slow as syrup, like this very moment when a two minute walk to the restaurant feels like an hour of whistling wind and quiet between them. He doesn’t even notice, thinking hard about it, that he’s shaking until Hyunwoo quietly drapes his red scarf back on him, loops it around Hyungwon’s exposed neck.

 

            “Thanks.” It smells heavily of Hyunwoo now -- he doesn’t mind that very much, doesn’t mind that sharp inhale of sweet smoke. “How long do you have for lunch? I forget you work pretty far from here.”

 

            “I told my boss I had a client to meet in Sinchon.” Hyunwoo flushes and it’s _cute_. Hyunwoo has such an open and sincere face that it’s hard to imagine him ever trying to get away with lying. “So I can take the whole afternoon.”

 

            Hyungwon loves this restaurant, loves the heavy scent of chili paste and green onions and cooking oil, the dirty tabletops pushed together, the old waitress who looks at all the customers as if they’re inconveniencing her. He almost expects Hyunwoo to feel out place but he was a student in this area before, must have come here in the winter plenty of times for cheap and warm meals. As expected, Hyunwoo slides into the seat across from Hyungwon and looks completely comfortable, even thanking their cold-eyed waitress when she slaps down two menus. Despite wherever he works now, it’s clear Hyunwoo is comforted by the small and homey places of his youth. Hyunwoo orders for them, seafood tofu stew for Hyungwon and pork for himself, beaming at the waitress who clucks her tongue as she leaves.

 

            Hyungwon reaches for a piece of fermented radish, crunching it between his teeth thoughtfully. “So where exactly do you work?”

 

            “I still work for Lotte Capital.” Hyunwoo moves for the fishcakes. “I like it there and it’s really not that expensive to live in Apgujeong. You just need to save a little bit more each month but I’m not a big spender.”

 

            “You won’t have a problem spending if you always eat in college restaurants.” Hyunwoo laughs warmly in response to that, enough to ease the chill under Hyungwon’s skin. The service here is always fast and their waitress is dumping their soups, bubbling red in their stone pots, onto the table. Hyungwon cracks an egg into his broth, watching it bloom white, and Hyunwoo pours in half of his rice to soak among tofu and zucchini. There’s nothing really comparable to hot soup and rice on a winter day -- after a meal like this, Hyungwon always wants to drape himself over the space heater like a cat and nap for hours.

 

            Hyungwon doesn’t mind eating in silence; Wonho and Minhyuk both have tendencies to talk all throughout meals. That’s fine for them but personally, he likes eating without Minhyuk spitting half-chewed food onto his plate by accident. Hyunwoo tends to focus solely on his meal when he eats, devoted to the tender piece of pork floating on his soup spoon. He’d noticed that about Hyunwoo before, when they were at barbeque, how he’d quieted the moment a crackling piece of beef was slid onto his plate. They’re like-minded in that way -- when Hyungwon eats, he just wants to _eat_. He has a hard time blinking the sleep from his eyes when he chews his last mouthful of rice and tofu, sliding down in his seat a bit. Hyunwoo breaks from his glazed stare at his own stew, giving Hyungwon a fond smile.

 

            “Tired?” Hyunwoo asks, mashing a piece of tofu with the back of his spoon. “I didn’t want to say anything but you look like you haven’t slept in a month.”

 

            “Finals are next week so I’m running on two hours of sleep and coffee.” Hyungwon blinks a couple of times, shifting to get more comfortable. “I feel like I know even less than before though.”

 

            “I’m glad I got you to eat a bit then.” Hyunwoo looks concerned, genuinely concerned and Hyungwon feels the need to force a smile so he’ll lighten up. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget the hell of final’s week.”

 

            There’s a lethargy that’s already seeping under his skin. Hyungwon shifts again, making sure the chair digs into his thighs to stay awake. “Yeah but once it’s done, it’s done and then I can take a week-long nap.”

 

            The restaurant crowd has thinned out over lunch -- all the students have returned for afternoon classes and the waitress is slapping a damp rag across empty tables, scrubbing with vigor at a piece of dried egg. The only other customer is an elderly man who goes between squinting at his newspaper and haphazardly slurping up ox-bone soup with a shaking hand. Hyunwoo’s spoon scrapes the bowl for one last bite before he collapses against the booth, looking very pleased. His ears are still a bit red from the cold, giving him a look almost like a child that’s been playing in the snow for too long. Hyungwon blinks once and then twice, tries to clear his head again.

 

            “Are you going to fall asleep on me?” Hyunwoo jokes but looks quite worried, as if Hyungwon’s going to face plant into his soup. “Did you want to grab a quick coffee before you head back?”

 

            He has to study for his exams. He has to _sleep_. But Minhyuk will be back at the apartment, probably tossed over the couch playing video games, and it’ll be impossible to do either of those. So he just nods and watches Hyunwoo throw a few bills onto the table, wiggling out of the tight space between the chairs and table. They settle for a cafe next door -- college areas have an almost uncountable amount of coffee shops to choose from and Hyungwon is hardly picky, as long as whatever he’s drinking is caffeinated. He finds them a corner seat that’s tucked away from the draft while Hyunwoo orders for them, squinting up at the menu. It’s strange but Hyungwon doesn’t _mind_ spending time with Hyunwoo, when he thinks about it. In fact, it’s refreshing to hang out with somebody whose life isn’t also dredged with exams and studying and paying their university bills.

 

            Hyunwoo gets them both a black coffee; Hyungwon regularly drinks an iced Americano but a cold drink is out of the question right now. He lets the cup warm his palms first, his chilled fingers, before taking a sip that scorches his tongue. It’s fine -- it’s the caffeine he needs more than the taste, although it’s bitter enough to make his toes curl. Hyunwoo plays with a sugar packet, rolling it between his fingers while he waits for his own coffee to cool down.

 

            “I hope this isn’t strange.” Hyunwoo smiles, one eye crinkling. “But you scented your scarf and-- you have a really nice scent. ”

 

            Hyungwon pauses from where he’s tracing the rim of his coffee mug with his finger. Betas have notoriously soft scents, like the last lingering notes of a perfume -- for some betas, like Hyungwon, their scent is almost completely indistinguishable. He’s had one or two friends in the past who’d noticed it on him but said it’d been too faint, like soap lingering on skin. “That’s probably Jooheon you’re smelling.”

 

            “No, he smells like… caramel, right?” Hyunwoo furrows his eyebrows. “It’s different. Cleaner.”

 

            “Probably my laundry detergent then.” Hyungwon says flippantly and Hyunwoo blinks once, twice before nodding slowly.

 

            “Oh-- yeah, maybe.” Hyunwoo looks briefly suspended in thought.

 

            “I buy the cheapest one they have at GS25.” Hyungwon raises the collar of his sweater to sniff at it. “I think it’s supposed to smell like spring rain.”

 

            “Back when I was in university, my old roommates just used to just spray down their clothes with cologne instead of washing them.”

 

            Hyungwon’s entire face wrinkles in disgust while Hyunwoo grins behind the rim of his coffee mug. It’s times like these that Hyungwon is grateful he and Minhyuk are merely messy, not absolutely _disgusting_. Their apartment is bound to have a sock or two strewn around the living room, a couple of plates in the sink, their own rooms carefully askew in the way where everything belongs in its place. However, Minhyuk and their apartment is thankfully not filthy and doesn’t reek of old clothes and cheap body spray.

 

            They finish their coffee quickly after Hyunwoo admits, with a few glances down at his watch, that he’ll probably get caught if he doesn’t head back soon. Hyungwon parts with him where they met, next to the art fixture outside the Hyundai department store, watching Hyunwoo’s back disappear as he takes the escalator down to the subway station. It’s a ten minute walk back to his apartment from there, weaving through familiar alleyways and past the Storyway where the cashier is always staring drowsily out the window. Minhyuk grunts from the couch when Hyungwon toes off his shoes at the doorway, looking as if he’s melted into the cushions. That’s about the only greeting he gets before his roommate flops over and shoves his face against the pillow for an afternoon nap. Hyungwon dumps his backpack onto the bed, eyes the mess of papers and dog-eared books that have collected on his desk chair. It’s become less of a workspace and a frantic clutter of things he needs to put a dent in as finals close in. Maybe he should feel some sort of urgency to clear it all out, to get it done and clean his slate but looking at it just makes his ears buzz and his stomach feel nauseous.

 

Hot showers are the only thing that eases his discomfort, where he stands under the spray of hot water until his fingers prune up and it’s one degree from being scalding. It’s like trying to scrub the chill out of his bones, the ice that seems to build up under the skin in winter. His legs are pink and raw when he steps out of the shower, kicking his dirty clothes into the corner of the bathroom and swiping the steam off the mirror. He looks a little haggard these days, Hyungwon thinks, sweeping a finger along the puffy, blueish bags under his eyes -- Minhyuk would argue that he always looks like that, sleepy-eyed and swollen as if he’s fighting a chronic fever. It’s just that time of year, the mixture of upcoming holidays and the cold and pending deadlines, reflected on everybody’s face (even Hyunwoo, whose eyes had been drowsy when they weren’t crinkled into a smile).

 

Minhyuk is awake when he slinks into the kitchen to make tea, staring at him with one eye still stuck shut. “Hey, where have you been? You’re usually home before me.”

 

“Studied at a coffee shop.” Hyungwon knocks around a few mugs to get to his favorite, one with a chipped rim and a fading illustration of the Bradenburg Gate in Germany that he bought years ago. “Do we have any barley tea left?”

 

“Maybe. I know we have green tea.” Minhyuk groans, the bones in his arms cracking as he stretches out lazily. “Heat me up some water too.”

 

Hyungwon digs out another mug, some freebie from when he signed up for his student bank account, while Minhyuk shuffles into the kitchen to free up a pack of instant coffee from their junk drawer. He stands there, swaying sleepily as if caught in a breeze, while Hyungwon scrapes a silver tin for the last spoonful of tea. It was a gift from his parents when they visited Jeju Island, one that reminds him to call them this week or else they’ll think he’s died quietly in a corner of the school library. Minhyuk shifts behind him, looping arms around his waist and tipping the entirety of his weight down on Hyungwon, nearly taking them both down onto the kitchen tile.

 

“You’re heavier than a car.” Hyungwon wheezes, digging his heels into the ground to stay upright. “Get off me.”

 

“I’m too tired to stand. Need coffee.” Minhyuk moans. “Just let me rest here.”

 

Hyungwon tries to jab an elbow but it’s no use, Minhyuk suctioned to his back like a parasite. The position does tickle a bit at a thought he’s had since this afternoon and he watches the spout of their water heater for steam, trying to seem nonchalant. “Smell me.”

 

“Why? Did you use a new shampoo?” Minhyuk asks, nosing at Hyungwon’s neck and hair. “You don’t smell like anything.”

 

“That’s what I thought.” Hyungwon shakes his head, lifting the kettle when steam begins to curl out. “Now get off me, that’s not an invitation to rub your scent all over me.”

 

            “Everything is an invitation to rub my scent on people.” Minhyuk sniffs but unlatches himself, pooling himself into a kitchen chair while Hyungwon stirs hot water into their mugs. His tea tastes a bit stale but it’s more the warmth he’s looking for, tucking his legs against his chest while he drinks. Now that he can dismiss Hyunwoo’s comment about having a scent, it’s easier to focus on the tight pinch between his eyes, the tension that leaks out of him like water between fingers. Minhyuk looks almost deflated as well, a crease on his cheek from where he’d pressed it to the pillow, his eyes bloodshot. Hyungwon watches quietly as Minhyuk’s fingers curl and uncurl around his mug, tilting his head to give him a half-smile after a long draw from his coffee.

 

            “I haven’t seen a lot of you lately.” Minhyuk’s voice is husky from sleep, catching on the middle of his words. “Are you doing okay?”

 

            “Fine. Just tired but I always am. How about you?”

 

            “I feel like everything’s going to be okay except for my math exam.” He drags his palm down his face, scrubbing at his eye with a yawn. “It’s like… no matter how much I study it, it goes through one ear and leaves the other immediately.”

 

            “Have you talked to Wonho yet?” Hyungwon wipes away a drop of tea with his sleeve. “He had to take like six math courses for his old finance degree.”

 

            Minhyuk groans, draining his coffee and reaching across the table to plant a kiss on Hyungwon. “No, because I’m an _idiot_. Thank you, thank you-- fuck, thank you, I need to call him.”

 

            He dumps his coffee mug in the sink, letting it roll and clatter around while Hyungwon takes his time to finish his tea, unfurling himself from the chair to toss his own cup in as well. Now that his stomach is warmed, there’s the temptation of curling back up under the sheets and napping for the rest of the day. The nagging tension in his temples reminds him of the things he hasn’t done, things he hasn’t even _thought_ of doing. It’s fine, Hyungwon thinks when he tries to pick up at the last place he dogeared his international relations textbook. When it’s all over, he’ll lock himself in his room and sleep like death.

 


	2. pt. 2

 

            His last exam of the semester is on Thursday in the afternoon and, after declining a few lunch invitations, Hyungwon goes home and sleeps all the way until Friday evening. Waking up that night is like kicking his way out of a coffin, eyes glued shut and his mouth like chewing on a handful of cotton balls. It takes an hour to orient himself and scroll through his phone, ignoring Jooheon and Wonho’s messages ( _you good???? you okay?? you alive??_ ), and texting his mom back a whole twelve hours later that his exams went okay and he misses her too and he’ll eat well. Then it’s another hour to strip down and shower until his joints don’t ache anymore and his hair doesn’t feel matted to his head.

 

            “Good evening, sunshine.” Minhyuk chirps from the couch when Hyungwon pads out of his bedroom, damp hair curling on his forehead. “Have you risen from your coffin permanently?”

 

            Hyungwon makes a noise that’s either a grunt of protest or just displeasure at being awake, draping himself over the other side of the couch. Minhyuk pats his knee affectionately, curling back against the pillows to finish watching whatever Lee Byunghun film he’s in the middle of. The days after the semester ends are always strange, catching himself in the middle of relaxing to worry about something he should be studying for or working on, only to remember that there’s just _nothing_. He’s exhausted but can’t fully sink into the cushions, tense as if there’s some hidden responsibility he’s managed to push to the back of his mind. It’s probably the fact that Wonho and Jooheon have probably sent twenty messages apiece, ranging from _how’d your exam go_ to _text back if u r still breathing please_.

 

            He handles Jooheon first, who is placated easily with an apology and a promise to hang out with him next week. Hyungwon calls Wonho next, lolling his head back against the couch until he picks up, distantly watching an explosion bloom across the television screen. “I was about to come over there and make sure you didn’t die in your sleep.”

 

            “You’re being dramatic.” Hyungwon blinks tiredly, listens to the post-sleep husk in his own voice. “I just called because you left me a novel of text messages.”

 

            “I was worried.” Wonho sniffs, shifting the phone with a crackle. “But I was trying to get a hold of you before tomorrow night. Are you busy?”

 

            “Tomorrow night? No.”

 

            “Okay, cool-- you remember my hyung, Hyunwoo, right?” Wonho asks and Hyungwon clears his throat, hopes that’s a good enough answer. “A friend of ours from university is showing her art at a gallery in Cheongdam and he RSVP’d for both of us. But I’m staying with my mom for a few days so-- I know you like Cheongdam a lot, I just volunteered you to go instead. It’ll be fun, I promise.”

 

            “Yeah, I guess, but I don’t-- really want to go to something really fancy. I’m so tired.” Hyungwon curls in tighter against himself.

 

            “You’ll like it, you can just wear jeans and a t-shirt. It’s not some big party, he just doesn’t want to waste the RSVP.” Wonho’s voice edges on a whine. “Come on, I told him I’d get you to come. You love art galleries.”

 

            “Alright.” Hyungwon grimaces -- it’s just the idea of not only going to some sort of event but also with Hyunwoo, who he hasn’t thought about outside the context of coincidental meetings. “Just text me the details.”

 

            “Thank you so much.” Wonho is bordering on annoyingly enthusiastic again. “He felt too awkward calling you out of nowhere but I knew you’d wanna go. You’ll really enjoy it.”

 

            The address is one along a famous road of galleries, an art space named LUMAS built with clean and chic silver hardware. He’s passed it before, probably dropped in briefly at one point to peek at the current exhibitions. When he goes to Cheongdam, he prefers the coffee shops that dedicate a room of their building to exhibit art -- it’s less sterile, more warmth and comfort than the glass palaces along Dosan Road. There’s only one current exhibition listed on the website, an artist named Soyou whose pieces are muted brown shop fronts and city roads, dotted minimally with bright colors in lights or trinkets gleaming in the window. It’s nice and subtle, the kind of art Hyungwon likes as he scrolls through the posted photos. Going won’t be a total loss if it means he can see good paintings and eat free food.

 

            “Where are you going tomorrow?” Minhyuk shifts, crumpling the chip bag between his thighs. “I thought your hibernation was a week long.”

 

            “Some art gallery thing Wonho had to cancel on.” Hyungwon mumbles, reaching to snatch a pepper chip from the bag. “All the way in Cheongdam.”

 

            “You like going there though.” Minhyuk rolls his eyes. “Going to look at art and spending seven dollars on coffee.”

 

            Hyungwon pushes off the couch. “I’m sorry your idea of art is One Piece.”

 

            Minhyuk is yelling after him, even when he closes his bedroom door behind himself. “The artistic complexity showcased in every episode--”

 

\----------

 

            Every single day gets more bitterly cold than the last, enough that Hyungwon’s heaviest winter jacket layered over a cashmere sweater still lets in too much freezing air to walk comfortably. He’s sure his cheeks and nose are burnt red from the wind , eyes watering when he steps from the subway exit onto the well-lit Cheongdam streets. It’s a ten minute walk to the long, glittering stretch of Dosan Road from the station, passing by darkened boutique fronts and the skeletal branches of trees that droop with blossoms in spring. There’s no time to be leisurely and peak through the frosted windows of cafes still open, jogging along the compacted snow and trying not to slip over a patch of black ice.

 

            LUMAS is wedged between two other similarly constructed art spaces, almost impossible to discern from the rest of the galleries lining the road. Hyungwon only knows he’s at the right place when he sees Hyunwoo, breath fogging in a cloud with each exhale, bouncing on his heels outside the front door. The squint in his eyes eases when he sees Hyungwon, removing a hand from his coat pocket to wiggle his fingers in greeting.

 

            “You didn’t have to wait outside for me.” Hyungwon sounds embarrassed by the gesture, tugging down the sleeves of his coat as he pads to a stop in front of Hyunwoo. “You’ll freeze to death.”

 

            “Didn’t want you to get lost. ” Hyunwoo mumbles, giving him a half smile. “Come on, let’s get you inside.”

 

            Hyunwoo presses the glass doors open with his shoulder so Hyungwon can slip through, working the zipper on his coat when he feels the first gust of dry, stifling air from the building’s heater. The whole place smells like lemon floor cleaner, a sharp tang that lingers under the overwhelming mix of scents, amplified by the amount of warm, packed bodies. It’s another reason Hyungwon didn’t want to come to some event -- it’s choking to be in a crowd of people, the musk of alpha scents and the almost gritty, sugary taste of omega scents that lingers on his tongue. Hyunwoo must sense it, guiding Hyungwon by the small of his back towards the coat room, a small nook cut out of the wall. It takes him a second or two to realize what’s throwing him off tonight -- it’s Hyunwoo, who always wears suits rumpled from commuting, dressed down in jeans with a coach jacket thrown over his shirt. Something about it is _strange_ , like seeing a fish walk out of water, makes him look younger and softer and more earnest. He’s been staring too long now, busies himself with handing his jacket over to the young girl chewing gum in coat check, eyes sleepy with boredom.

 

            “There’s coffee in the other room-- or we can walk around. Whatever you want.” Hyunwoo looks to Hyungwon for guidance, who looks back equally startled.

 

            “Coffee sounds great, actually, if you don’t mind.”

 

            It turns out to be the better choice -- the tiny room appropriated for a makeshift refreshments lounge has been cleared out in favor of viewing the art. It’s only them and a handful of others who linger around the walls, picking lint off their clothes and chatting amongst themselves. It doesn’t stink as much in here either, muted by the cutting smell of fresh coffee and Hyunwoo pressed close to his back, leaning over him to grab a packet of sugar. Hyunwoo settles back on his heels, looking at Hyungwon with that kind, open expression that always makes his stomach twist a bit unsurely.

 

            “You look a little sick. You didn’t have to come if you weren’t feeling well.”

 

            “I’m fine, I promise. I just-- can’t stand really big crowds. I get a little claustrophobic.” Hyungwon reassures him when Hyunwoo’s eyes crinkle in worry. “Seriously, it’s alright. I’m better now.”

 

            “We can start with her sketches then.” Hyunwoo suggests, setting his half-drained coffee down. “Everybody else usually heads for the paintings first.”

 

            Hyungwon nods back, eyes flitting towards the door when he hears heels clicking on the tile. The woman staring at Hyunwoo, expression pinched, walks on stilettos with the ease of a jogger in running shoes. She’s dressed in a neat cream turtleneck dress, her manicured fingers smudged with charcoal and paint that soaked too deep into the skin to completely scrub out. Her mouth curls into a sly smile when Hyunwoo turns around, wiggling her fingers in greeting before reaching out to hug him.

 

            “Why’d you try to sneak around me, you brat?” She pulls back to pinch his ear but he only ducks his head sheepishly, hiding a grin. “I needed a save from some guy trying to talk my ear off.”

 

            “Sorry, it was just too crowded in there.” Hyunwoo sounds playfully apologetic, glancing over his shoulder at Hyungwon. “This is my noona, Jihyun. She paints under the name Soyou.”

 

            “Soyou, Jihyun, both names are fine.” Her fingers curl reflexively on Hyunwoo’s arm, facial features relaxed into an amused but unreadable look. “Where are your manners? Am I just supposed to guess your friend’s name?”

 

            “Oh-- oh, sorry, this is Hyungwon. He’s a friend of Wonho’s.” Hyungwon smiles uneasily at the introduction, reaching to shake the slim hand Jihyun holds out to him. “Wonho went home for the holidays so Hyungwon took his place.”

 

            “Nice to meet you.” Even in stilettos, Jihyun doesn’t tower over him but still makes an intimidating appearance. She’s clearly an alpha, from the confident set of her shoulders, the almost feline grace to how she moves -- she doesn’t need to say it, everything conveyed effortlessly and wordlessly. Her scent is sharp and heavy, burning at Hyungwon’s nose, which she must sense as she gives him a playful twitch of a smile. He likes  her, he decides, as she kisses Hyunwoo’s cheek and leaves a smudge of pink lipstick, squeezing Hyungwon’s hand again before she slinks back into the crowd at the call of her name.

 

            Hyungwon licks at his thumb, smudging it along Hyunwoo’s cheek to wipe away the kiss mark left behind. “I can’t get it all off but now you look like you’ve got a healthy glow.”

 

            “She always does that.” Hyunwoo flushes, scrubbing at it with his own hand to no avail. “It’s fine. It’s winter, everybody has pink cheeks.”

 

Hyunwoo dumps his own coffee cup in the trash and leads Hyungwon back into the main gallery, shoulders jostling as they push through to the back where people begin to thin out. The pieces hanging here are labeled as some of Soyou’s sketches, which haven’t garnered as much attention and fanfare as the paintings hanging near the front. He actually prefers these ones, life and bodies and buildings rendered in quick strokes of charcoal, a face scribbled in thin pencil lines in the corner of one paper. Everything seems to be caught in a moment, as if it’d be blurring if she hadn’t captured it right that second, a hand whose fingers might clench or a shopfront whose door might swing open.

 

“Don’t look at this one.” Hyunwoo startles him as he steps in front of the third framed sketch. “It’s embarrassing.”

 

It takes a second before Hyungwon realizes it’s Hyunwoo on the paper; mouth parted, eyes wide, hands curled in front of him, as if Soyou had called his name and snagged the very second he’d looked up in response. It’s such a familiar expression, the open gaze of sincerity Hyunwoo seems to have whenever people talk to him, the one on his face that melts into a smile seconds later. “Why? I like it.”

 

“I look… dopey.” Hyunwoo mutters, shoving a hand into his pockets as Hyungwon laughs.

 

“It looks exactly like you.” He tilts his head to look at it again. “I think it’s my favorite so far.”

 

Hyunwoo raises his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.” Hyungwon lingers in front of it for a few more seconds before turning back around. “You make that look all the time.”

 

            “You haven’t known me that long.” Hyunwoo protests.

 

            “But everytime I see you, you make _that_ look.” Hyungwon emphasizes with a glance over his shoulder back at the picture. “Why are you acting like it’s a bad thing? It’s nice. It’s you.”

 

            Hyunwoo doesn’t answer but Hyungwon swears his ears get a little bit pinker as he continues to walk the course of the room. It’s not as uncomfortably crowded around Soyou’s paintings anymore, enough that they can squeeze between a few shoulders to catch a peek, but still makes Hyungwon’s stomach tighten. He recognizes a few pieces from the photo gallery on the LUMAS website, shifting against bodies to find the one he’d liked most. It’s a train platform and the clock that hangs above it, set in what looks like the rural transition between one city to another. Everything is rendered softly in sepia except for a splash of red and green in the background, blurred hints of buildings and trees. It straddles a line between lonely and expectant; there’s a feeling like a train could curl through the station at any moment or go hours without a single person. Somebody jostles behind Hyungwon and he nearly whips around in annoyance until Hyunwoo’s hand, familiar and rough, settles on his shoulder to steady him.

 

            “Sorry.” Hyunwoo mumbles, almost against his hair, before stepping back.

 

            “Don’t worry about it.” Hyungwon traces the blurred lines of the painting once more, twice more before turning around. “Which piece is your favorite?”

 

            “Me?” Hyunwoo blinks, that same wide-eyed, furrowed brow expression Soyou had captured so cleanly on paper. “She has one of a highway-- hold on.”

 

            The piece Hyunwoo leads him to is flanked by Soyou, who raises her eyebrows over the shoulder of a girl she’s talking to. He won’t say it but Hyungwon likes knowing which piece is Hyunwoo’s favorite, how it reflects on him -- a broad blue sky dotted with the curling lights of a highway, buildings peeking from far away like tree tops, a rush of cars on the other side but an empty road opposite it. It’s broad and bright and optimistic, a piece just like Hyunwoo, well fitted to his personality. And then he smells Soyou before she speaks, slinking up behind them.

 

            “I knew I’d run into you here.” She teases, bumping Hyunwoo with her elbow. “I think I’m just gonna give this to you for Christmas.”

 

            Hyunwoo laughs, eyes curled into half moons, without a word of protest. Hyungwon can tell he wouldn’t turn it down if she really offered it and it’s charming in a way, how taken he is by the piece, how much he seems to genuinely enjoy the art Soyou produces. She turns her gaze on Hyungwon next, eyes curious. “Did you like the exhibit?”

 

            “It was really great.” Hyungwon assures. “Thanks for letting me take Wonho’s RSVP.”

 

            “I’m glad you came because if you weren’t here, he’d probably just wander around with that sad kicked dog face he makes.” Soyou squeezes Hyunwoo’s shoulder, watching his cheeks burn under the stained smear of her lipstick. “I need to smooze some more people-- I’ll call you later this week, alright?”

 

            She slinks off quickly with the click of her heels, leaving behind the mix of scent and perfume that trails like smoke after her. Hyunwoo rubs at his shoulder, like she’s left an invisible mark, before taking a quick glance at his watch. It prompts Hyungwon to do the same -- it’s not too late in the evening, that sort of time where he could either head home and fall asleep early or stay out for the rest of the night. They step out towards the coat room when people begin to crowd and clump together again near her paintings, making it almost unbearable to even breathe. They exchange their tags back for their coats, slipping their arms through the sleeves with only the noise of crinkled fabric, zipping up preemptively against the cold.

 

            “Did you want to get something to eat?” Hyunwoo asks, jangling his keys in his pocket. “If you’re not hungry, we could just do coffee instead.”

 

            Hyungwon thinks on it but the hum of the crowd, the mix of scents, the cold he knows he’ll have to step into make everything ache. “I’m okay, actually. I had a great time, I promise, I’m just-- worn out, finals and big crowds and stuff.”

 

            “No worries.” Hyunwoo shifts on his feet. “Did you want to get dinner though? Maybe next week? There’s a really good seafood place by my apartment-- Wonho said you liked seafood.”

 

            It’s only after a few seconds, a creeping realization, that he realizes Hyunwoo is asking him on a proper date. Even though Hyungwon had kept himself distant before, in the way he tends to do with alphas, Hyunwoo actually wants to take him out. It’s the reason why a feeling seems to drip down his spine, slow and warm like honey, and then he realizes too late that Hyunwoo is still looking at him and he’s still standing there, fiddling with the zipper on his coat, mouth pursed in thought.

 

            “Wonho told you just how to court me, didn’t he?” Hyungwon asks, bemused. “Yeah, of course. That sounds nice-- I just need a few days to feel less… deflated.”

 

            “Yeah, of course.” Hyunwoo raises his hands. “Is Tuesday night okay?”

 

            “Just text me the station and the time.” Hyungwon pushes his hands into his pockets, tilting his head because now it’s hard to look into Hyunwoo’s eyes, watching the corners of them fold when he smiles. “I’m going to try to catch my train but-- I’ll see you this week?”

 

            “Of course.” Hyunwoo blinks, struck by another thought. “Wait, let me walk you to the station.”

 

            “I’m fine, it’s like five minutes.” It’s more like ten but he feels bad enough leaving the exhibition so early, exhausting himself in the crowd. “Tell Soyou thank you again.”

 

            Hyunwoo walks him to the front doors, pushes it open against the wind and watches Hyungwon’s shoulders curl against the cold protectively. Hyungwon peeks over his shoulder for good measure when he hits the end of the street -- there’s Hyunwoo’s silhouette still holding the door, lit by the front door of LUMAS, and then it’s turning back to go inside. The train ride back to his place is predictably long and quiet, having missed the crowds of students going out for the night and far too early for the group of them that attempt to make it back for the last train. Almost forty five minutes to the mark, he’s fumbling in the cold air for his key ring, pushing the apartment door open with his shoulder.

 

            Minhyuk is slurping from a bowl of cereal milk, dyed a morbid blue shade from whatever was floating in it. “Hey.”

 

            “Hi.” Hyungwon sniffs, peeling himself out of his jacket. “I thought you’d be out.”

 

            “Changkyun cancelled on me.” Minhyuk doesn’t sound too morose about it, clearly pleased to be wrapped up warm on the couch while snow collects on their window. “How’d that thing go? With Wonho’s friend?”

 

            For a moment, Hyungwon almost considers telling him. It’s threatening to spill out now, just to get it in the air, to solidify it: _Son Hyunwoo wants to take me on a date and I said yes_. But he restrains, busies himself with toeing his shoes off because truthfully, he doesn’t know how Minhyuk will respond to it besides a lengthy interrogation. He’s positive Minhyuk isn’t one of those people who tend to think of alpha and beta relationships as uncomfortable and unnatural but he’s never once _calmly_ reacted to things like this. Especially given that Hyungwon hasn’t dated since his freshman year, a lackluster few outings with a sophomore beta whose personality was stale, and even that had worked Minhyuk into an excitable tizzy.

 

            “I hate when you do that beta… sponge thing.” Minhyuk’s nose sniffs, breaking through the nearly silent drop of Hyungwon’s shoes onto the rack. “You smell like you’re wearing fifty different perfumes at once.”

 

            “I’m sorry it’s so inconvenient for you.” Hyungwon mutters dryly. “Personally, I love reeking like wet dog and having no control over it.”

 

            “Go shower.” Minhyuk commands, lobbing a pillow at him and taking out a salt shaker on their kitchen table. “Fuck.”

 

            Hyungwon lets Minhyuk scramble to wipe the flung salt on the table, wiggling out of his jeans and sweater as soon as his bedroom door clicks behind him. He’s tired and cold and he wants to sleep but he knows he won’t be able to, with such a fast thrum under his skin. Even sinking onto the mattress, curling deep under the sheets isn’t enough to make him as boneless as he wants to be. He has a _date_ and it feels so juvenile to get worked up over it, even this little, but Hyunwoo is hardly in the same league as meeting some college boy for a movie who tries to creep a hand up his thigh. Maybe it’s still the alpha thing but besides the broad way he carries himself and the command to his personality, Hyunwoo is hardly the kind of stereotype Hyungwon avoids.

 

            So maybe it’s just excitement then, which is almost as unfamiliar. But he runs through the mental gymnastics a few times and it wears him out effectively, the thoughts bleeding out until his head is blissfully empty.

 

\---

 

            There’s a thing about alpha and beta relationships -- much like the _thing_ about omega-omega or alpha-alpha relationships too. It’s the kind of things older generations get themselves worked up about and the kind of things Hyungwon’s generation, for the most part, doesn’t see as very surprising but still not the norm. With an abundance of omegas and the lingering expectation that alphas and omegas are a natural made pair, it doesn’t make _sense_ to a lot of people why an alpha and a beta would want to date. Betas get asked why they’re trying too hard to be omegas, alphas get asked why they can’t just find a nice omega -- one that’s admirably soft and gentle and submissive. Hyungwon could have plenty of omegas and betas; the same goes for Hyunwoo, who could probably open a door and knock into a handful of eligible omegas. Especially given the abundance of omegas, it doesn’t make _sense_ to a lot of people that alphas would want to date anybody else, that betas would want to stray from their circle of fellow betas and omegas.

 

            Hyungwon’s never strayed from betas or omegas, not as a matter of principle but just because that’s what he seems to attract. He has a hard time imagining what it’d be like in an alpha-beta relationship but it’s not hard to guess -- something your parents ask to keep from the relatives, that makes people do a double take in surprise or disgust on the sidewalk, that always ends up getting asked about and picked apart and observed like being under a magnifying glass. Coming out as a teenager had been similar, like taking a step and not knowing if the ground under you would just fall away, if all the relationships he’d built up, if all the people he knew would slip away like smoke. Then it’s surprising, he supposes, that somebody like Hyunwoo -- with a tame job and life and friends -- would ask him out knowing this.

 

            Hyunwoo had texted him two days later ( _seven in the evening, Apgujeong Exit 4, see you then!_ ) which had squashed any doubt that him asking had been spur of the moment, something he wanted to retract. So Hyungwon finds himself packed on a Tuesday evening train to Apgujeong, pressed against a pole and stifling in his winter jacket. Unlooping his scarf does nothing to ease the uncomfortable heat from too many people pushed into a single train car, each brushing sweaters against each other and breathing against necks. It takes a long time to untangle himself from all the bodies around him when he arrives at Apgujeong Station, wedging himself through the doors at the last minute. He’s a few minutes early, taking the escalator up and smoothing down any stray hairs with his palm, yanking on the hem of his sweater before zipping up his jacket against the cold.

 

            Hyunwoo is idling by the Exit 4 staircase, still dressed in his work clothes with a scarf looped messily around his neck. He doesn’t see Hyungwon until he’s a few steps away, gives him a surprised smile that softens each line on his face. “You snuck up on me.”

 

            “Should have been paying attention.” Hyungwon shrugs, the corner of his mouth curling up in response.

 

            “Ready to go?” Hyunwoo fumbles with the buttons on his coat nervously. “You-- look really nice, by the way.”

 

            “You can’t see what I’m wearing.” Hyungwon raises his eyebrows, watching Hyunwoo grin in embarrassment. “But thanks. You look nice too.”

           

            The restaurant is right outside the subway entrance and he’s grateful for that today, when the wind tangles snow in his hair and the air is dry enough to make his throat ache when he breathes in. There’s a rush of warm air when they slip in through the front doors, laced heavily with chili oil and brine, carries the lull of laughter and conversation. It’s the kind of place Hyungwon would pick out for himself -- clean wood accents and wide windows to watch people stamp across the snow outside, cozy and clean and nice without being too pretentious. He hovers at the doorway, shaking snow off the hood of his coat, while Hyunwoo lifts two fingers to a waitress who flits by with empty plates. She’s back again in a minute, two menus tucked under her arm as she slinks between crooked chairs and tightly-packed tables.

 

            Hyungwon sinks into his chair and slides his coat off while Hyunwoo orders them two waters. “Have you eaten here before?”

 

            “Twice.” Hyunwoo pushes a menu across the table, tapping his finger on it. “The shrimp here is really good.”

 

            “Either you’re really good at guessing or Wonho told you shrimp was my favorite food.” Hyungwon scans through the menu. “You order for me then.”

 

            When their waitress swings by their table again, Hyunwoo reads off their order -- crab stew for himself and spicy honey shrimp for Hyungwon -- while Hyungwon watches him, cheek pressed to his palm. If it’d been anything besides a date, he wouldn’t think twice about the things he says, the conversations he starts. But everything he wants to say is heavy on his tongue and he swallows it down, wonders if Hyunwoo feels this weight as well. It’s already strange to meet with Hyunwoo on their own terms like this, no push and pull from friends or lost scarves or late night studying. It’s a bit strange, like a tickle in the back of his throat, when he thinks about Hyunwoo being _nervous_ to go on a date with him. There’s almost relief when he watches Hyunwoo’s fingers tap anxiously on the table, his eyes glance at Hyungwon between ordering -- relief that maybe they’re both trying just as hard to impress each other.

 

            “You do look nice.” Hyunwoo notes with a tilt of his head and Hyungwon moves to finger the hem of his sweater, something it took him nearly an hour to pick out earlier. “Now that your jacket is off.”

 

            “Thanks.” Hyungwon smiles because it makes Hyunwoo’s hands stop moving so nervously, makes a bit of tension bleed from his shoulders. “You’re making me feel a bit underdressed.”

 

            “Sorry, I came straight from work.” Hyunwoo moves almost reflexively to loosen his tie. Hyungwon watches his fingers shake a bit while they undo the knot a bit, almost laughs at how _anxious_ they both are. If he’s truthful, he finds it far more charming than anybody he’s ever dated before, boys who were never anxious because they never thought they had to impress, never worried about making a good appearance. There’s something to appreciate about Hyunwoo, who has tried hard since Hyungwon first met him -- tried hard to be nice, to be funny, to be somebody Hyungwon would like. And Hyungwon does like him, likes how eager and thoughtful he is, how he understands the limits Hyungwon sets and never pushes. There’s a whole list of things that make him like Hyunwoo and even the thought of it, all those little bullet points in his head, makes his skin warm.

 

            Their food comes quickly and then their waitress is gone again, calling out a welcome when customers press through the front door. Hyunwoo reaches for the empty bowl next to Hyungwon’s elbow, returns it wordlessly with a portion of his meal spooned into it. His cheeks go red from either the steam or the way he pretends he can’t see Hyungwon bite back a smile. The food is expectedly great and once the dinner crowd has filtered out, it’s quieter, less of a strain to speak without raising their voices. Hyunwoo is the type of person that’s easy to talk to -- he asks the right questions and brushes past the subjects that Hyungwon hesitates on. Telling Hyunwoo things about himself doesn’t feel strange, like about growing up in Gwangju and spending time as a child in Germany, his parent’s work as travel agents and his younger brother living in Australia.

 

            Hyunwoo’s life is a bit more quiet -- an only child born and raised in Seoul, two parents he still visits every weekend for dinner. He used to swim competitively in high school and now does it twice a week for exercise, which shows easily in the wide, broad stretch of his shoulders. He even promises to take Hyungwon to his old neighborhood in Dobong district, its perimeters lined with mountains and temples that belong to Bukhansan National Park. Hyunwoo pauses only to pay the check, the sort of effortless slip of his card to the waitress that happens faster than Hyungwon can protest.

 

            “Did you want to grab dessert?” Hyunwoo smiles uneasily. “If you’re too tired, we can do it another time.”

 

            Hyungwon ignores the twist in his stomach when Hyunwoo looks at him so tentatively. “No, that’d be nice.”

 

            The Paris Baguette across the street is empty of students, who usually spread their textbooks out during the weeknights and study until closing time. Now that it’s holiday break, it’s clumps of women whose heads are ducked together in private talk, glossy hair spilling over their shoulders or businessmen stopping in for coffee in their commute home. Hyungwon secures a high table pushed against the window while Hyunwoo lingers in front of the counter, orders two iced coffees and tall, airy slices of chiffon cake. Hyunwoo skims the buttercream frosting off his slice with a fork; Hyungwon goes for the strawberry on top, the whirl of whipped cream under it stained a sticky red. Apgujeong is dull in the expensive, safe sort of way where boutique windows go dark at eight and the only places to retreat afterwards are back to the subway station or pricey, dimly lit restaurants. But it’s impossible to deny how beautiful it is during the holidays -- lights curled around tree trunks like blinking fireflies, hovering in the leaves as if a cloud of fairies, all casting a white-gold glow onto perfect mounds of snow. In the dark, the lit street looks like a curling pathway that he could walk for hours, even when the tips of his toes and fingers sting from the chill.

 

            Hyunwoo watches Hyungwon’s fingers curl and uncurl around the cardboard sleeve of his iced coffee, the wide-eyed gaze of his eyes flutter from the lights back to him. “They just put them up a few days ago.”

 

            “It’s all neon signs in Sinchon.” Hyungwon licks a fleck of frosting off of his fork, dropping it back to the plate. “Not very festive.”

 

            “We could go for a walk before you catch your train.” Hyunwoo suggests, picking at a blueberry with his head ducked down, as if unsure of his own suggestion.

 

            Hyungwon turns his head back slowly, the soft curve of his nose and cheekbone lit for a second before he’s blinking at Hyunwoo. “I can make my nine o’clock train if we leave now.”

 

There's still a cold wind that curls into the hidden nooks of Hyungwon's jacket as they walk but otherwise, the weather is pleasant, the temperature muted to something more refreshing than miserable. He doesn't mind winter as much when it's like this -- everything glowing gold under the street lights, the crunch of snow under his shoes, how close Hyunwoo seems to be when they brush arms. When it's so clean and sterile outside, he can smell Hyunwoo heavily, warm and sharp and familiar now; he remembers the first time he met Hyunwoo, how his scent had been choking, and now it lingers as easily as the last note of perfume.

 

Even when the lights are turned off in each store, the front displays are still lit like a theater before close -- the mannequins with hands delicately curled, slim bodies draped in sequined dresses that blink like stars, peering facelessly out at them like they're striking one last pose before the curtain drops. The boutiques themselves are free of decorations, as if the blank and sharp lines will be cheapened by Christmas lights and tinsel. But the string lights hanging from the branches that line the sidewalk look as delicate, as beautiful as silky cobwebs, the sort of timeless beauty that only lives briefly during the holidays. When he looks back at Hyunwoo, he's staring at him instead of the lights, looks mystified before his face crumples into a guilty smile.

 

"When does your semester start again?" Hyunwoo pushes his hands into his pocket, tilting his head up to watch a plane's tail blink against the clouds.

 

"A few days after New Year's." Hyungwon shrugs his shoulders, trying to readjust his scarf to cover his mouth. "It already seems so close."

 

"It's not even Christmas yet." Hyunwoo laughs, deeper and warmer than all the lights. "You'll still have plenty of time to sleep."

 

"Is that all you think I do in my free time?" Hyungwon rolls his eyes but there's a lilt to his voice, a playfulness that makes Hyunwoo's eyes curl into half-moons. Hyunwoo walks him the whole two blocks to the furthest subway exit, a crinkle between his eyebrows when he pauses in front of the glass doors as if he's running the things he wants to say through his head. When he takes a step closer, Hyungwon's breath seems to catch in his throat and his head empties and all he can think is that Hyunwoo is about to kiss him. Everything smells like him and the way he looks down at Hyungwon, quiet and tender and unsure, has a way of catching his chest.

 

Hyunwoo flattens his hand, brushes his palm gently across the snow gathered on Hyungwon's hair. "Can I see you again soon?"

 

"Sure." Hyungwon watches Hyunwoo's hand drop, fingers curling as he tucks it back into his pocket. "Just text me."

 

Then he's taking a careful step back, a soft smile blurred by the street lights. Hyungwon lifts his hand in a wave and turns, keeps his head forward so he isn't tempted to look back. There's a part of him that knows Hyunwoo is probably still lingering there, watching his back as if he might melt away between the doors and the subway. Whatever breath he's holding is exhaled when he scans his metro pass on the card reader, follows the sound of train brakes down the stairs.  There's something pulled too tight in him, something that makes it impossible to just curl back into his coat on the train and relax, so everything feels mechanical -- switching trains at Euljiro-sam, exiting at Sinchon station, slinking through the familiar shortcuts back to his apartment building. Hyungwon returns to Minhyuk asleep and all the lights in the apartment shut off. The dark is warm and satisfying after the night, with street lights cutting gold over Hyunwoo's cheekbone still fresh in his mind.

 

\------------

 

            When Hyungwon unfurls himself from the sheets, he can hear Minhyuk padding around in the kitchen, the familiar huskiness of his voice as he sings under his breath. He grins at Hyungwon over his shoulder, one eye squeezed a little tighter with sleep, the legs of his pajama pants pooling around his bare feet. “Coffee?”

 

            “Please.” Hyungwon curls his knees against his chest as he sits down, watching Minhyuk move with the kind of bundled energy that buzzes under his skin. Sometimes his enthusiasm is grating in the mornings but on days like this, when he strokes fingers through Hyungwon’s hair and makes coffee in Hyungwon’s favorite Germany mug, he’s the only thing that makes mornings bearable. Minhyuk takes the seat across from him, the one with the short leg that wobbles on the kitchen tiles, and steadies himself with a palm on the table.

 

            “I didn’t get to see you before I went to bed last night.” Even if Hyungwon couldn’t see him, he could still hear the pout in his voice, a low whine. “You didn’t even tell me where you went.”

 

            Even though he’s always been private, a tendency not to give information unless shaken down for it, he doesn’t like to keep things from Minhyuk. Not that Minhyuk isn’t nosy enough, able to sift information out of anybody with a bit of huffing and pressing, but Hyungwon’s never kept something so significant from him. It’s a been long time since Hyungwon dated and Minhyuk had always clung to his side, eager to sap each detail from their movie and dinner and park dates, eager to be _excited_ for Hyungwon. So when he looks at Minhyuk’s face, puffy from sleep and still smiling despite the fact that one eye is glued shut, he gets this little tug in his chest.

 

            “I went on a date, actually.” Hyungwon mumbles and he can hear Minhyuk shift in excitement. “With Hyunwoo.”

 

            “Hyunwoo? Like… Wonho’s Hyunwoo?” Minhyuk speaks like he’s chewing on the words, trying to digest it. “Like-- alpha Hyunwoo?”

 

            “Yeah.” Hyungwon lifts his head, curling fingers around his coffee mug. Minhyuk’s eyebrows are furrowed deeply, as if all the gears are crunching together in his head, his mouth open to speak before snapping closed. That’s probably the worst reaction Hyungwon could imagine -- anything that _stops_ Minhyuk from talking is far more upsetting than anything that makes him yell.

 

            “Why didn’t you tell me?” Minhyuk’s words are slow, audibly confused. “Did you think I’d be mad or something? I don’t understand.”

 

            “No, it’s-- just weird.” Hyungwon mumbles, picking at a loose thread hanging off his sweater. He knows whatever response Minhyuk is giving him comes from a place of worry -- he knows Hyungwon doesn’t have a history of befriending alphas easily, has never dated one either.

 

            “Weird in a good way?” Minhyuk asks, rubbing at his throat. “Or bad?”

 

            “Good.” Hyungwon assures him, assures himself because it _is_. It’s new and foreign but it’s good, it’s exciting. “Are you mad at me?”

 

            “No, just-- confused.” Minhyuk exhales, the wrinkle between his brows softening when he looks at Hyungwon. “So? What’s he like? He gives me a kinda friendly stone statue vibe.”

 

            “Stop.” Hyungwon tips his head back with a whine, the knot in his stomach loosening as soon as Minhyuk’s voice edges on familiar playfulness again. “He’s really sweet.”

 

            “I’m happy you’re happy.” Minhyuk curls an arm around his neck, pressing his cheek to the top of Hyungwon’s head affectionately. If it had been any other situation, any other moment, Hyungwon wouldn’t have hesitated to throw him off with a well-placed elbow. But he’s mostly just relieved that Minhyuk isn’t making this a _thing_ , like pulling out all the itty details as if he’s extracting teeth. Instead, he asks about the restaurant Hyunwoo took him to, the walk afterwards, all with a giddy smile on his face that never seems to budge.

 

            “It was fun then?” Minhyuk raising an eyebrow as he pushes away his coffee cup. “Did he ask you out again?”

 

            “Yeah, it was fun.” Hyungwon thumbs at a smudge on the table. “He hasn’t messaged me yet but-- if he asked, I’d say yes.”

 

            “Not that you need my approval,” Minhyuk hums, unfurling himself from his chair and spraying hot water into his mug, “but I like him. I like anybody that buys me barbeque.”

 

            He’s right -- Hyungwon really doesn’t need his approval but he likes it anyway, likes to know that any potential boyfriends won’t be an object of his friendship circle’s hatred. And after all the years Hyungwon has known Minhyuk, he knows there’s more to his approval than just free food; it’s an implication that he knows Hyunwoo treats him well, treats Hyungwon’s friends kindly. But Minhyuk just grins over his shoulder and Hyungwon smiles back, tracing the chip on his mug.

 

\-------

 

            They get coffee again on their second date -- Hyunwoo lets him choose and Hyungwon settles on Fritz, a cafe that occupies a traditional tile-roofed building in Gongdeok. Its inside is dimly lit with traditional lanterns, wide windows peering onto a snow-covered patio. He likes it because behind a low stone wall and brick gate, it sprawls out prettily, a relic squeezed between office buildings. He’s there earlier than Hyunwoo to secure a table; even on a Saturday during winter vacation, the cafe tends to draw in a diverse crowd and interested foreigners who find it online. Hyunwoo arrives a few minutes later, peering past the jewel-colored lanterns that hang like ripe fruit before his eyes catch on the familiar olive-green of Hyungwon’s winter coat. There’s a flush to his cheeks from the nip of winter wind, his hair swept away from his forehead so messily that Hyungwon isn’t sure if it was purposeful or the result of a particularly hard gust. In a red knit sweater and jeans tucked into work boots, he looks softened around the edges, all the sharp points he seems to have in his suit and tie sanded down. It’s all clumsy and charming in a way Hyungwon has started to associate with Hyunwoo, all the little fumbled things that make him so likable.

 

            Any distance between them during their first date seems to have evaporated; there’s something very natural about spending time with Hyunwoo now, filling all the gaps they used to have between each other. They talk about Hyunwoo’s job and the upcoming spring semester and then Hyunwoo asks how he found this cafe, peeking at the courtyard covered in a blanket of white snow. Hyungwon tells him how it reminds him of vacations at his grandparents’ house in the country, a sprawling property of low Korean tile roofs and sliding doors and dripping willow trees. And then Hyunwoo is asking about his grandparents, those long and slow summers he used to spend there -- truthfully, Hyungwon doesn’t mind telling him these things, the things he usually never offers up to friends. Hyunwoo tells him about his own grandparents, still sprightly and bright, who live in a tiny place on the fringes of Seoul and call often to ask about his health.

 

            An hour later, Hyungwon is dimly aware of the sun now tucked behind the rooftops, the contrast of an icy blue night against the fading, molten fringe of sunset. It filters through, dusts the right side of Hyunwoo’s face in pale yellow before fading. “I think they’re setting up for live music. Do you want to head out?”

 

            Then Hyungwon notices all the things he’s made background noise behind Hyunwoo’s voice, feedback from a tested microphone and a drum being fumbled into place. It’s getting warmer in here, everybody packed in close with their winter jackets still on and holding coffees that breathe out steam. He’s surprised at himself, how easily he’d focused on Hyunwoo, how easily he’d lost track of everything moving and shaking around him. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

 

            “I know you don’t like crowds.” Hyunwoo murmurs as he stands up, struggling to stick an arm through his jacket and Hyungwon feels that sudden sharpness in his chest again when Hyunwoo does stuff like that; remembers the smallest things about Hyungwon. “I’m going to sound decrypted but I hate loud noise. I don’t think I’ve been to a concert since I was a sophomore.”

 

            Hyungwon laughs. “You act like you’re elderly.”

 

            He can see the corner of Hyunwoo’s mouth curl up playfully before Hyungwon returns to his own jacket, doing up the zipper. It’s one of the first pleasant nights in Seoul, the snow melting from roofs, and it’s comfortable between the lingering warmth of coffee and how Hyunwoo brushes shoulders as they walk. When they step back onto the current of the main street, there’s a blur of voices, pockets of bodies; it’s too easy to get separated and Hyunwoo’s fingers brush Hyungwon’s palm, tentatively lacing their fingers as if Hyungwon might yank his hand back in response. But he doesn’t, just tightens his grip, feels the brush of Hyunwoo’s thumb on his knuckles, the warmth and roughness of his skin. Then it quiets when they’ve cleared that stretch of busy Hongdae pavement, where the nightlife dims to closed store fronts and apartments with their curtains drawn. It seems colder here, where the street lights doesn’t reach all the darkest corners, and when Hyunwoo tugs him a bit closer, Hyungwon moves like a moth towards flame.

 

            “I don’t do this often.” Hyungwon tightens his fingers around Hyunwoo’s. “But I really did have a good time tonight.”

 

            Hyungwon doesn’t like breaking a comfortable silence but it’d been something he had to say -- there’d been a nervousness to Hyunwoo all night, a worry that something might go wrong, that Hyungwon wouldn’t enjoy himself. He’s glad he said it when worry in Hyunwoo’s face bleeds away, replaced with a smile that he can’t seem to stifle.

 

            “I’m glad.” Hyunwoo exhales, gently pressing against Hyungwon to sidestep a puddle. “I was a bit nervous, honestly. That you wouldn’t have fun.”

 

            Hyungwon laughs, can feel a burn in his cheeks at Hyunwoo trying to hard to please him. “You make me sound so picky. I was honestly just nervous too.”

 

            “Is it because of the expectation?” Hyunwoo asks in a tone that’s not quite teasing but still curious, almost gentle when he picks at the question.

 

            “Not really… I don’t really care about other people. But being with you-- I like it.” He can feel the stumble in his own words, admitting something like that, but Hyunwoo doesn’t respond. “Are you still nervous?”

 

            Hyunwoo pauses, his steps slowing to a stop. “A bit. I guess I just want to know if it’s really okay with you, if... it’s something you want to do. Dating an alpha.” 

 

            “If I had a problem with it, would I have let you take me out?” Hyungwon raises his eyebrows and Hyunwoo shrugs, his cheeks coloring a bit. “I’ve never cared about that stuff. I’m curious about you-- if this is something you want to do, you and I.”

 

            “Of course. If I had a problem, would I have asked you out?” Hyunwoo teases and Hyungwon’s face scrunches up in a look of faux annoyance. “It’s just that-- I know you don’t really like alphas so I guess I just want to know if you’re okay with _me_.”

 

            “You’re different.” Hyungwon says it like it’s that simple, it’s fact, watches Hyunwoo’s eyebrows pull together in an unreadable expression. “I don’t know how else to say it or explain it or anything but I like you. I like Hyunwoo the alpha.”

 

            There’s a certain relief to having this conversation, a relief to knowing that Hyunwoo respects how he feels being a beta. It’s never been easy for him to date, for him to swallow the disappointment when men realize he’s not an omega, when men think the softness to his face and frame are deceptive. And there had been an inkling, an almost unacknowledged worry in the back of his head that Hyunwoo might be the same, the same caution Hyungwon has always had when people show interest in him. But Hyunwoo respects the wariness he has towards alphas, his identity as a beta, and it eases a pressure off of Hyungwon that he always tries to forget.

 

            Hyunwoo is still quiet, almost contemplative, and Hyungwon tugs on his arm. “You still seem nervous.”

 

            “I wanted to ask you another question but--” He pauses, hesitant to finish his sentence, and Hyungwon squeezes their fingers together. “Can I kiss you?”

 

            He makes a little _oh_ , an exhale of surprise that Hyunwoo almost takes to be rejection, and then Hyungwon steps forward to close the gap between them. There’s something natural about kissing Hyunwoo, about chapped lips and a rough hand cupping his cheek, something warm and pleasant even when the cold sinks under their skin. Hyunwoo holds his face like Hyungwon might slip between his finger, grazes his thumb across the curve of his jaw as if to remember all the corners and lines of his face. It’s more than a kiss, more than his mouth on Hyungwon’s -- it’s the taste of coffee, the feel of Hyunwoo’s fingers brushing his hair back, the smell of his cologne and scent. Even when they pull away, there’s an urge to fall back against him but he doesn’t, rocks back on his heels to watch how the streetlights wash over Hyunwoo’s smile, over the half-moons of his eyes. 

 

            “Did you need to catch your train?” Hyunwoo asks, sounding breathless, and it takes a few seconds for the words to sink in among the buzz in Hyungwon’s ears.

 

            “Yeah.” He exhales but all he can focus on is Hyunwoo’s face lit in yellow and the almost dizzy smile on his face. “But we can take our time walking.”

 

            ---------

 

            The rest of Hyungwon’s winter break washes away with the snow with storms bringing a week of muddy rain that curls down sewer drains. It’s a kind of wet iciness that seems to penetrate winter boots and soak through socks, a dampness that sets the tone for the spring semester. There’s not even relief ducking into coffee shops or buildings on campus; everybody’s scents are mixed with the musty smell of wet denim jeans and wool sweaters. The first day back is filled with despondent expressions from students and professors, rushing between classes with their coat collars tugged across their faces. It’s impossible to keep a good mood among the backdrop of swollen gray clouds and even the buzz from meeting Hyunwoo the night before has soured in Hyungwon’s stomach. Today is syllabus after syllabus, memorizing office hours, flipping through the class schedule with glazed eyes at all the projects and presentations and essays that will be due in just weeks ahead.

 

            “First day and we already have a reading comprehension quiz on Friday.” Jooheon exhales in annoyance, pushing his knit hat on and flattening his bangs to his forehead. “You don’t even buy your textbooks until the second week, do you?”

 

            “Me and the rest of the world.” Hyungwon zips up the front of his jacket. “Anybody who assigns work in the first week of classes is trying to make you fail.”

 

            They trail after the last of their classmates, weaving between them along the familiar path to the Starbucks on the first floor of the literature building. It’s already crowded with students getting out of their 10:30 classes and others waiting for their 11:00 classes to start. Hyungwon gives Jooheon a glance -- an _I'll buy, you save seats_ look -- and rattles off their order while Jooheon tosses his bag onto a two seat table tucked under the staircase. He’s scrolling through his phone when Hyungwon slides his iced coffee across the table, dislodging a clump of ice with a fierce stab of his straw. Even on frigid mornings like this, iced coffee is the only thing that makes the overheated and bone-dry lecture rooms more bearable to sit in for hours.

 

            “So how’s it going with that guy?” Jooheon asks, wetting his lips once he’s drained half of his coffee. “Wonho’s friend?”

 

            “It’s good.” Hyungwon flicks his cup, rolling his eyes when he sees Jooheon’s eager expression for more information hasn’t faltered. “We’re seeing a movie tonight.”

 

            “What kind? Romance? Horror? Comedy?”

 

            “A _movie_.”

 

            Jooheon’s nose scrunches. “Have you at least kissed?”

 

            “I don’t kiss and tell.” Hyungwon’s mouth curls into a half smile when Jooheon’s expression crumbles again, blowing out an exasperated sigh. He lobs a few more questions over finishing the rest of his drink, the wrinkle between his eyebrows deepening each time they’re deflected. He gives up eventually ten minutes before his next class, tossing his cup into the trash and giving Hyungwon a look that suggests he’s probably going to wring answers out of him later. Between Jooheon, Wonho, and Minhyuk gnawing at his legs for details, he feels like he’s fighting for his life among a pack of coyotes.

 

            Seeing a movie with Hyunwoo that night bleeds the tension from the start of the semester -- two hours of a forgettable romantic comedy and Hyunwoo’s hand resting on his thigh do wonders for clearing his head. They make plans for dinner on Saturday night, a celebration to end the first week of classes, and Hyunwoo kisses him while Hyungwon waits for a cab. It’s the kind of thing that becomes more comfortable each time he’s with Hyunwoo, intimacy that eases into a second nature. After that night, it feels like the rest of the week is crawling on broken legs to Saturday, a exhausted stumble through hours of lectures and reading lists and classmates already trying to start study groups on Kakaotalk. By the time Saturday actually comes, he feels an exhaustion deep enough to keep him in bed until the evening. He spends the day actively ignoring the reminders from his calendar ( _quiz on monday!! post colonial lit write-up due sun. 11:59pm on web portal_ ), curled under his comforter hovering between scrolling through his phone and falling into cat naps.

 

            The toll of the week doesn’t stop his head from buzzing when he gets ready to meet Hyunwoo, slipping into a nice black sweater and taking the subway out towards Gangnam. The restaurant Hyunwoo meets him at is nice, its homey aesthetic carefully crafted with dimly lit lanterns and hanging planters overflowing with ivy vines. They finish dinner quickly when the place begins to get packed out and the mix of scents gets choking, skipping out on dessert to stumble back out to the cold, clean air outside.

 

            “Careful.” Hyunwoo mumbles, pulling Hyungwon away from the doorway when a group of alphas elbow past them. “I should have expected it’d be crazy on a Saturday night.”

 

            “We could take the train somewhere else. Seoul Forest has quiet cafes.” He winces when another alpha stumbles into him, slurs out an apology that’s half laughter. “Anywhere, really.”

 

            Hyunwoo guides him out of the pathway of some drunken girls who wobble past on heels, lifting his chin in the direction opposite of Hyungwon. “My place is a few blocks that way if you don’t mind a walk. I make good tea.”

 

            “You don’t have to convince me to come over.” The corner of Hyungwon’s mouth curls up in a half-smile, bordering on mischievous, and he thinks he sees Hyunwoo color a faint pink under the street lights. 

\----- 

 

            “Your place is nice.” It’s a unnecessary observation but it’s the first thing Hyungwon thinks when Hyunwoo flicks on all the lights. It’s clean and simple and the few messes, like scattered papers and plates in the sink and pairs of shoes haphazardly tossed by the door, still look neatly contained in their own areas. “Did you want help with the tea?”

 

            “No, I’m fine. Just make yourself at home on the couch.” Hyunwoo toes off his shoes, moving to fill the electric kettle under the sink. “Green or black?”

 

            Hyungwon follows suit, sneakers kicked off at the door and coat draped next to it. “Green’s good.”

 

            Hyunwoo’s apartment is warm -- the sound of him rooting around in his cabinets for mugs and tea bags, the rows of worn books on his shelf, the photos slid underneath the glass cover of his coffee table. There’s a picture of Hyunwoo dwarfing his parents, arms slung around their shoulders with a crooked smile. It overlaps with one of him as a child, dressed in suspenders and a yellow polo, and another of him squeezed into an office group photo with one eye squeezed shut by accident. He can hear Hyunwoo switching off the kettle when it begins to whistle sharply, glancing over his shoulder at Hyungwon. “Having fun?”

 

            Hyungwon raises his eyebrows. “You were a cute baby.”

 

            “I was a chubby baby.” Hyunwoo grimaces, turning back around before Hyungwon can tell if the flush in his cheeks is from hot water steam or embarrassment. “You don’t take anything in your tea, right?”

 

            “Just plain.” He curls his legs in to make room on the couch for Hyunwoo, helping him set their mugs down on a water-wrinkled copy of Men’s Health whose only use is probably as a coaster. “You know, it’s really interesting.”

 

            Hyunwoo looks up, a wrinkle between his brows as he sits down. “What’s interesting?”

 

            “You. Your place.” Hyungwon drops his legs back down, letting their thighs brush -- he likes that Hyunwoo isn’t trying to keep his distance. “You’re just a lot different than what somebody would think-- looking at you, I guess. It’s just interesting.”

 

            He gets a laugh in return, the kind that makes Hyunwoo’s eyes curl into half moons. He doesn’t answer right away, seems to think on it -- on what _different_ could mean -- as he takes a pull from his tea, scalds his tongue with a wince. “A lot different? Different usually doesn’t mean good.”

 

            Hyungwon eyes his tea, steam still curling up from the top, before turning his gaze back on Hyunwoo. “You look quiet is all .”

 

            “Does that mean boring?” Hyunwoo’s nail clicks against his mug.

 

            “ _Handsome_ and boring.” He’s teasing but Hyunwoo’s cheeks burn anyway. “You’re not, though. Not boring. I’ve learned enough about you to know that.”

 

            “Yeah?” It startles into a question when Hyungwon’s fingers brush across his knee, the last sound of it swallowed. He almost slinks his hand back, wounded at perhaps misreading the way Hyunwoo looks at him through his lashes, but Hyunwoo leans in a bit closer as he speaks and Hyungwon keeps his hand curled over his jeans. “I’d say the same thing about you.”

 

            “That you’ve learned a lot about me?” He likes the sound of that, the taste of it in his mouth -- Hyunwoo learning about him and liking it enough to learn more and more. “All good things, right?”

 

            “Of course.” Hyunwoo looks flushed, even under the dim lighting of his living room, his own fingers scratching at the denim of his jeans an inch from Hyungwon’s hand. “And about me? Are they good?”

 

            Hyungwon can’t tell if the twitch in Hyunwoo’s brow in nervousness, if the constant shift on the couch cushions is wanting to be closer or wanting to move away. But then Hyunwoo looks up at him, in the way that softens his whole face, looking at Hyungwon with something he doesn’t think he’s misinterpreting -- the same kind of desire that’s been warm and tight in his stomach the last few minutes. So Hyungwon swallows down the answer he was going to parrot out, a playful and teasing _of course_ , and closes the inch between them; feels Hyunwoo shift in surprise, the clatter of his mug being set back down, before his hand is curling around the back of Hyungwon’s neck to pull him in closer. No matter how slowly Hyunwoo kisses him, the kind where Hyungwon melts against him, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of it.

 

            When they pull apart, Hyunwoo’s hand lingers on his neck, on his hair. “Do you usually drink your tea cold?”

 

            Hyungwon gives him a half-smile. “I think we both know I didn’t come here for tea.”

 

            Hyunwoo exhales a laugh against his jaw when he kisses there, leaves a trail down Hyungwon’s neck, down the dip of his shoulder and jut of his clavicle before he’s on his mouth again. The care is gone now, replaced with the rush, the scrape of Hyunwoo’s teeth along his lower lip, a hand sliding down the curve of his hip. It lingers there, stroking over the cotton of his shirt as if wanting to slip right under the fabric and map out his skin. It stays there, warm fingers sinking into his waist, while Hyunwoo fits his knee between Hyungwon’s thighs to move in closer, swallows the half-whimper Hyungwon makes. His nails skim down Hyunwoo’s back as if trying to steady himself, blinking back the haze of Hyunwoo’s scent and tea-warmed mouth, before he’s melting again, a slow slip back against him. Hyungwon’s never _wanted_ somebody like this, never had somebody want him back just as much, to want eager fingers and lips and words on him and to have them given. Even when Hyunwoo pulls away, lips slick and swollen, Hyungwon just wants to pull him in by his collar and bruise his mouth again.

 

            “It’s late.” Hyunwoo’s words are more breath than substance, his palm still warm on Hyungwon’s hip. “You might want to catch your train. Or-- you can stay the night, if you want to.”

 

            Hyungwon lingers on the suggestion, tracing the bumps of Hyunwoo’s spine through his t-shirt before he drops his hand in regret. “Not tonight. I have to meet my advisor tomorrow morning.”

 

            “Then we should get you to the station.” Hyunwoo stands, wobbling on his legs for a few seconds while he takes the mugs to the sink. Hyungwon follows after, brushing down his hair even though it’s hardly any use -- even without a mirror, he must look like Hyunwoo, flushed high in the cheeks like he’s drunk. It takes almost ten minutes to even leave the apartment, having gotten one shoe on and then letting Hyunwoo press him to the wall and kiss him, finger hooked in the loop of his jeans. Only after a glance at the microwave clock did he actually leave, foot half shoved into the other sneaker and almost not making his train. Even when he’s gone, Hyunwoo seems to be wrapped around him like a blanket -- his neck still burns from where Hyunwoo had pressed his mouth in goodbye, smelling the cloak of his scent hanging onto his clothes, even over the stink of the subway and too many bodies pushed together at once.

 

            Throughout the ride home, he can’t stop thumbing over the curve of his neck. It’s still warm, the spot where Hyunwoo had kissed him last, as if the blood had risen to meet his lips and stayed there. He hardly minds it, especially in the cold draftiness of a late night subway car, as if a bit of Hyunwoo has stayed behind with him to make the trip back home less lonely. It clings to him between stations and through the familiar path of Sinchon alleyways, a wisp of woodsy smoke as if Hyunwoo is right behind him.

            ---------

 

            Between his studies and Hyunwoo’s work, they’ve only managed dinners and coffee breaks over the last few weeks. Whenever they can meet, it’s like water set to boil -- everything is a little more heat, a little more fire, leaving with that unnamed feeling tightened a little further. There are the occasional brushes, how Hyunwoo’s gaze will seem heavier in certain lights like he’s _thinking_ about it, closing the space between them. And then there are the silences, the times where the gaps aren’t filled, the pause when Hyunwoo had dropped Hyungwon off at home: the weight, the want to invite Hyunwoo inside but having to swallow it because Minhyuk is home and they have exams tomorrow and they _can’t_. It’s close to snapping when they go out to dinner with Wonho and Jooheon, since he’d put his hand on Hyunwoo’s knee under the table and smoothed a warm palm up his thigh. It’d taken painful effort to keep his gaze straight, blank in the direction of Jooheon’s face - it borders on torture when Hyunwoo doesn’t look down but strokes his thumb along the underside of Hyungwon’s wrist. Dinner had been a test of patience; when he’d kissed Hyunwoo outside of his apartment, Hyunwoo had slid a hand over his waist, tugged him forward a bit like a question and Hyungwon had finally been able to answer.

 

            “Wanted you,” Hyungwon’s words are dizzied, dragging his nails down the front of Hyunwoo’s chest to the waistband of his jeans. “Wanted you so bad, wanted you that night--”

 

            “I know.” He exhales warm against Hyungwon’s neck, trying to unbutton his shirt in shaky pulls. They haven’t even turned on the lights, only kicked off their shoes before stumbling out of the hallway.  “I know, I know.”

 

            The bedroom is an afterthought, a word breathed against Hyunwoo’s neck before they step backwards through the doorway, clumsy over their own feet. By the time Hyungwon’s knees hit the back of the bed, his fingers are tangled in the loop of Hyunwoo’s tie and pulling him down, back onto his mouth. Hyunwoo kisses carefully, the graze of his teeth, the curl of his hand under Hyungwon’s chin all tentative, waiting for direction. Hyungwon gives it, shrugging off his shirt and sitting up to unzip Hyunwoo’s jeans, help ease them down his hips. Hyunwoo trips out of them, trying to kick them to one side while working open the buttons of his dress shirt. Hyungwon sits back on the bed with raised eyebrows, hands dropping to push Hyunwoo’s fumbling ones away.

 

            “Let me do it.” He pulls him down by his shirt, undoing the top buttons with a careful hand. Hyungwon can’t help but pause, giving up on the last button in favor of mapping out all the lines and edges that make up Hyunwoo’s chest, his shoulders.

 

            Hyunwoo laughs, all low and endeared, lacing his fingers with Hyungwon and pulling them away gently to take care of the last button himself. “You’re just feeling me up now.”

 

            Hyungwon tilts his head, a little playful, a little faux-innocent, watching Hyunwoo shrug his shirt off. Hyunwoo draws him in closer, runs his hands down the bare curve of Hyungwon’s spine, all the way down to tug at the belt loops of his jeans. He sits up, lets Hyunwoo work his jeans and boxers past his thighs before falling back, kicking them off next to his shoes. He takes his time with Hyunwoo’s boxers, slips his finger under the waistband teasingly to slide it down slowly, listens to the impatient hiss through Hyunwoo’s teeth.

 

            There’s not much time to admire it, the strength and muscle to him, before Hyunwoo’s hands settle on his hips, hoisting him up the sheets with ease. It knocks the breath out of Hyungwon because sometimes he _forgets_ Hyunwoo is an alpha. It’s hard to do but he handles his strength gently, careful to never impose it. Hyungwon laughs in a sharp gasp, sliding his palms up Hyunwoo’s forearms in admiration. He doesn’t mind this, that feeling when Hyunwoo wants to him so badly that he can’t help but heave him up the sheets and smooth his fingers down Hyungwon’s chest. He takes Hyunwoo’s fingers, kisses the tips of them.  “You’re so strong.”

 

            “You think so?” Hyunwoo’s shoulders straighten at the comment, question curling at the edges with pride. It’s a burn, a lick of fire in Hyungwon’s chest that he can make Hyunwoo tilt his head up so confidently, turn hesitant motions to ones that move with purpose.

 

“Of course.” It’s less an answer, more a warm exhale against Hyungwoo’s skin. He’s always liked how he can draw Hyunwoo in like this, loosen him under his mouth. Hyunwoo comes apart in soft sighs, fingers on Hyungwon’s hips when he leaves a zigzagged path of bites along his shoulder. There’s one, red and almost bruised, on his neck that makes Hyunwoo’s fingers tighten hard against his skin.

 

Hyungwon pulls back, thumbing over the mark he’s made. “Is that alright?”

 

“It’s perfect.” There’s almost something delicate about how he closes his eyes, the slight tilt to bare his neck. It’s unusually vulnerable for an alpha and he flinches when Hyungwon noses at the dip of his clavicle. It takes a few more careful bites, tongue soothing over them, for Hyunwoo to relax again. Hyungwon is sure that he’s never given up control like this but the warm hand heavy on his waist is quiet encouragement.

 

Hyunwoo thumbs over the jut of his hip bone, sliding his palms under Hyungwon’s thighs. He has gorgeous legs, long and lean, tensing prettily each time Hyunwoo’s hands smoothes over them. There’s something fascinating about them, the sleek skin of his calves, the soft fold under his knees. Hyunwoo presses a kiss there and listens to Hyungwon exhale airly, back arching off the sheets. It’s a lovely noise, one that fades into a pleased sigh, punctuated with the slow spread of his legs like an invitation.

 

“Come here.” Hyungwon’s head lolls on the pillow, eyes lazy like a cat. Hyunwoo watches the curl of his fingers, brushing his inner thigh. “Do you want to touch me?”

 

“Yeah.” Hyunwoo lifts his gaze, grip tightening on Hyungwon’s leg. “But I don’t want to rush you.”

 

Hyungwon’s thigh muscle tightens under his hand with a surprised laugh. He wets his lips, peers at Hyunwoo through the fringe of his lashes. “Take your time.”

 

Just like his legs, Hyungwon’s stomach is pretty, a long stretch of soft skin punctuated with the dip of his navel, the outline of his ribs. With other boys, Hyungwon may have held his breath and pretended his stomach wasn’t sensitive -- that the scrape of teeth, the slide of calloused hands over him didn’t make it tighten sharply. But there’s a vulnerable tremble to it when Hyunwoo touches, slight like a bee’s wings. With Hyunwoo, it’s okay to let him see his fingernails curl into the sheets, to let him see the shallow rise of his chest. Hyunwoo lets it sink in, slow as syrup, the weight in each little shift of Hyungwon’s body in response to his mouth. There’s more to explore, hours of curves and skin and freckles to map, but Hyungwon’s cock is heavy between his thighs and there’s no point in pretending Hyunwoo’s isn’t either. He leaves a bruise, red and wet, on the sharp line of Hyungwon’s hipbone before he shifts his knees over the sheets.

 

Hyunwoo fishes around in the nightstand for the half-empty bottle of lubricant hidden between uncapped pens and tissue packets. “How do you usually like things?”

 

Hyungwon’s eyebrows raise playfully. “However you want to do it.”

 

Hyunwoo hesitates, finger slipping over the cracked cap of the bottle. It spills a bit, wetting his palm and dripping down his wrist, onto the bare curve of Hyungwon’s hip. Hyunwoo looks sheepish, moving to thumb it off but Hyungwon laughs, scrubs it into his skin. “I’ll show you.”

 

Hyungwon lets his body sprawl out, unfurling like a ribbon on the sheets. He’s comfortable with this kind of attention, where he doesn’t have to look up to know Hyunwoo is focused on the slide of his fingers along his inner thigh. His hand trails a path up his thighs, his hips, stomach tightening when his palm brushes across his navel. Hyungwon drops his head back on the pillow, imagining how Hyunwoo’s gaze lingers -- on the outline of his ribs against his skin with each breath, the dip of his stomach, the curl of his toes. Hyungwon’s hand pauses, wrist flicking in a gesture for Hyunwoo to give him the bottle he’s still holding. When he gives it back, his right palm glistens slick with lubricant, falling back towards his thigh. Hyungwon thumbs at the base of his cock slowly, watches Hyunwoo’s shoulders pull back taut in anticipation.

 

“You’re not showing, you’re teasing.” Hyunwoo wets his lips, a strain to his stance like he’s wound too tightly. Hyungwon fucks into his fist at a lazy pace, watches Hyunwoo stroke the front of his boxers in time. He likes this, Hyunwoo’s gaze sharp on the slick stroke of Hyungwon’s cock, like he wants to close the distance between them but holds himself steady. It makes Hyungwon want to be prettier, more enticing -- he makes a show of tossing his head back, parting his lips in a gasp. When he looks back up between his legs, eyes lidded and feline, Hyunwoo’s face is flushed under the low light, all the way to the tip of his ears. Hyungwon meets his gaze, lets his mouth curl into a pleased smile when he pinpoints the moment Hyunwoo’s resolve crumble; Hyunwoo shifts forwards on his knees, eyes intent, slipping his fingers under the waistband of his boxers to slide them off his hips. He hisses a little when he's free of the confines, thighs flexing; Hyungwon is surprised by how much he likes that.

 

It's evidence of how much he wants this, just as telling as the way Hyunwoo's hand falls back on his thigh even as he kicks his boxers off his ankles. The other hand slides up the natural handholds of Hyungwon's hips to the dip in his stomach, coaxing him to be pliant. Hyunwoo seems to know where he wants him, easily slipping one knee in between Hyungwon's parted thighs and lifting Hyungwon's leg to sling it over his hip. The long, solid line of heat all along Hyungwon's side, the gentle palm on his stomach are steady, stabilizing. But there’s the hard press of Hyunwoo’s cock to his thigh, the mouth along his neck that makes blood rise wherever it touches, burning counterpoints to gentle fingers.  
  
            "Is this alright?" Hyunwoo asks, voice hushed. His fingers hesitate at the base of Hyungwon’s dick, sliding his thumb along the underside vein when he gets a soft exhale in response. Hyunwoo’s hands are far different than Hyungwon’s -- rough and broad and warm, able to feel him out, to touch him in ways Hyungwon has never been able to do to himself. And there’s a duality to it; Hyunwoo could hold him down with the same effortlessness he’d used to manhandle Hyungwon like this, pressed against him. But he doesn’t, keeps his grip gentle enough that Hyungwon could pull himself out of it with ease, slip between his fingers. There’s weight, bulk to him but he never imposes it, keeping his mouth pressed to Hyungwon’s shoulder and his fist around his cock in a slow, careful fuck. It’s a good pace that takes its time to build, like a rope in Hyungwon’s stomach being pulled tauter and tauter until his breath is sharp and tight.

 

“That feels good.” Hyungwon’s tone is as soft and pliant as the curl of his frame and Hyunwoo twists his grip like a response, as if he’s imagining it, fucking his own cock like this to the purr of Hyungwon’s voice. Hyungwon’s inhale stutters when there’s a change in the way Hyunwoo jerks him off, a startled little hiccup that melts into a sigh. Hyungwon turns his head, eyes lidded under the haze of his lashes and staring up, and Hyunwoo dips his face to press their mouths together. He can tell it’s getting harder for Hyunwoo to hold back, riled up enough to rock himself against Hyungwon’s hip in short bursts. Hyunwoo’s breath is jagged, almost frantic against Hyungwon’s lips like he’s close too; it takes almost all of Hyungwon’s energy to slide his fingers along the sheet and curl them around Hyunwoo’s wrist to stop.

 

“I want to finish with you.” Hyungwon mumbles against pillow, freeing himself from Hyunwoo’s arms. He’s sure he already looks fucked -- the heat to his cheeks and mouth, the slick and flushed dick pressed to the inside of his thigh. But Hyunwoo is hardly any better, hair damp on his forehead and eyes clouded, propping himself up with tensed forearms. It takes a while to slot themselves together again, Hyunwoo moving to prop himself against the headboard with his cock heavy and hard between his spread legs. Hyungwon falls back on his heels, lets Hyunwoo’s fingers sink into his waist and pull him forward on his lap. He puts a hand on Hyunwoo’s shoulder to steady himself, inching up his thighs until they’re flush against each other again.

 

It takes fumbling, another generous handful of lubricant for Hyunwoo to get his fingers wrapped around their cocks. The rhythm is lost, the pace jagged but even just the _friction_ \- hot and static and sliding hard against each other. Hyungwon lets Hyunwoo do the work, falling forward to press their foreheads together, to feel out his mouth again in the haze of it. There’s a clumsiness to it, like they’re too eager, too desperate to do this properly. It’s a slow build but it collects, heat pooling low in his stomach, until Hyungwon’s fingernails are dragging down Hyunwoo’s back for stability. It takes too much effort to keep him from jerking up in time with the fist curled around their cocks and Hyunwoo has to press a palm to his hips, thumb over the sharp jut of his bone to keep him in place.

 

“Close?” Hyunwoo breathes it out, a tremor to his voice. Hyungwon doesn’t answer because Hyunwoo surely _knows_ he is, knows by the tensing in his thighs, the nails that dig harder into his skin. It only takes a minute more for it to pass through Hyungwon like a shiver, his teeth sinking into Hyunwoo’s lower lip with a hiss. Hyunwoo gasps into his mouth but keeps him still, pinned by his hip, fingers still fucking over their pressed cocks even though it’s too much now, a sensitivity that toes on the edge of pain. He doesn’t protest it, just hisses between his teeth because Hyunwoo is following on his heels, grip going sloppy and impatient. When Hyunwoo comes, he seems to tighten and then fall apart at the seams -- fingers digging hard enough into Hyungwon’s waist to bruise before they drop, eyebrows knit tight before his face eases into blankness. When he’s finished, his hand messy and slipping back between his thighs, he moves to press his face into the crook of Hyungwon’s neck until the shake to his frame eases.

 

They stay there, fever under their skin and bodies too heavy to move, until Hyunwoo finally seems to exhale again. He wipes his soiled palm against the sheets before he touches Hyungwon again, crooking fingers under his chin, sliding them up to wipe at his wet lashes. Hyungwon tilts his head, slips his face from the cradle of Hyunwoo’s hand to kiss his palm, down to his wrist. Hyunwoo’s hair is a mess and there’s an instinctive need for Hyungwon to fix it, to brush the pieces from his forehead and thread his fingers through it. Hyunwoo looks at him so tenderly when he does, when Hyungwon’s hand rests at the nape of his neck to play with the soft hair at the base of his head.

 

“Good?” Hyungwon rasps because it’s always Hyunwoo checking, always trying to feel things out, to make things perfect.

 

“Very.” Hyunwoo answers, eyes closing when Hyungwon’s hand slips to stroke the trail of his spine. He looks vulnerable under Hyungwon, flushed and softened, and it takes an effort for him to lift his arms and draw Hyungwon in. But Hyungwon goes easily, slips against the curve of his body with a practiced familiarity, the slotting together that follows effortlessly after sex.

 

“You should get cleaned up before that dries.” Hyungwon drawls, words heavy from exhaustion. He doesn’t mean it, knows full well if Hyunwoo tries to get up, he’ll just tighten his arms to make him stay put. And Hyunwoo knows that, ignores the discomfort of the lubricant and cum that’s already gone sticky on his inner thigh in favor of pressing his nose against the crown of Hyungwon’s hair. “We’re going to feel gross when we get up.”

 

“Maybe.” Hyunwoo answers in the kind of tone where Hyungwon knows he’s pleased to stay right where he is, tangled around Hyungwon like ivy. So he shuts his mouth and lets Hyunwoo hold him, lets him trace fingers over the sharpness of his pubic bone, up to his stomach to rest over his heart, a steady beat to fall asleep to.

 


	3. fin.

 

            Although attending classes is hardly fun, Hyungwon’s never liked summer vacation either; it’s always seemed like the most wasteful time to have no school, with the only two choices being to wither outside or pass the day lounging under air conditioning. Seoul is unbearably hot in August, all clean white pavement and glass-paneled office buildings baking under the sun. Even riding the subway to meet Hyunwoo is a feat of strength, packed against sweat-slicked bodies in a humid train car. They’d given up on walks in the park and festivals in June as soon as it hit 32 degrees, resigned to cafe hopping and drinking iced coffees under a steady blast of cold air. The cat cafe a few streets from Hyunwoo’s office becomes a frequent spot, mostly for the ease of meeting there during Hyunwoo’s lunch breaks. But there’s also something Hyungwon likes about seeing Hyunwoo wear the pink slippers they have to exchange their shoes, pouring himself into a tiny cafe chair and having his ankles nipped at by eager cats.

 

            “That one looks like you.” Hyungwon says, eyes focused on the cat lazing next to Hyunwoo’s arm, tongue licking between its pink-padded toes. “You’ve got the same eyebrows.”

 

            Hyunwoo picks a tuft of fur off his suit sleeve, looks at the two sprigs of dark whiskers above the cat’s eyes. “Really? I think he’s a little more handsome than me.”

 

            As if he knows, the cat preens in response, legs stretching out long and slow like taffy before resting his head on the crook of Hyunwoo’s elbow. Hyungwon grins around the straw of his iced latte, rubbing his thumb above the cat’s orange-speckled nose until it’s tired of his touch, curling away from him in a tight half-moon. His collar tag reads Gommie and so far, he’s the only one brave enough to jump on their table and try to paw a shortbread cookie off the plate for himself. The rest are strewn about the room lazily, ears flattening with each toothy yawn and acting aloof whenever somebody takes their picture on a cell phone. Gommie blinks steadily at him, eyes narrowed in faux sleep before his paw slinks forward, attempting another heist.

 

            Hyungwon grimaces, makes a flicking gesture to shoo Gommie away from the table, where he darts off with half a cat-shaped biscuit in his mouth. “He’s got the same appetite as you.”

 

            Hyunwoo sweeps the discarded crumbs off the table, taking a bite of the broken other half before offering it to the calico lolling at his feet. “It’s cute. He just wants your attention.”

 

            “If we ever got a cat,” Hyungwon rolls a discarded strap wrapper between his fingers thoughtfully, “I’d want one that’s a little more gentle. Sleepier, maybe. One that doesn’t steal from the plate.”

 

            Gommie returns, satisfied and whiskers sprinkled with crumbs, to toss himself into Hyunwoo’s lap. Hyunwoo moves his hand down to stroke underneath his spotted chin, earns himself a torrent of purring and a rough-tongued lick to his palm. He lifts his gaze, catches Hyungwon’s eyes while he thinks it over. “So you’d basically want a cat like you, not like me. How about one of each?”

 

            Hyungwon leans back in his chair, unable to hide his smile when he watches Hyunwoo refocus his attention on scratching a particularly pleasing spot behind Gommie’s ear. “One like you and one like me?”

 

            “They could keep each other company.” Hyunwoo says it with such earnestness that Hyungwon has to swallow his laughter to keep from waking the other cats. It’s an amusing idea, a feline Son Hyunwoo and Chae Hyungwon, napping together in the sun and batting around balls of string. It’s not out of pocket either -- their leases end next spring and there have already been quiet suggestions that they might look for a new place together. Not that he would say it but Hyungwon thinks he’d like that, adopting a cat with Hyunwoo; it’s all part of a future they’ve casually pieced together, half unspoken thoughts and half ideas murmured in bed.

 

            “Alright, two cats then.” Hyungwon punctuates it with a sip of coffee. A shared apartment, coming home to two cats and Hyunwoo every day -- it’s overwhelming in the kind of breathless, exciting way things far in the future are, things he doesn’t think he’d mind experiencing with Hyunwoo. “Finish your drink before we go.”

 

            “Is it already 1:30?” Hyunwoo glances at his watch and flicks off another cluster of cat hair. He drains the rest of his cup, more lukewarm watery coffee than anything, before gently lifting the cat from his lap. Gommie lets out an agitated meow at being misplaced and saunters away, collapsing a few feet over on a cat bed. Hyunwoo pays the bill and Hyungwon slips out the front door to wait for him, blinking against the sun. Outside, the day is so hot and humid that it’s almost syrupy, the smell of warm foliage and asphalt and the scents of everybody passing by enhanced under a cloudless sky.

 

            Hyunwoo follows a few seconds after, slipping his wallet into his suit pocket before drawing Hyungwon in under the shade. It’s not any cooler here but at least he can properly see Hyunwoo’s face without the glare of sunlight causing spots in his vision. Hyunwoo leans down to kiss him, slow and taking his time because he doesn’t mind being a little late, doesn’t mind a bit of scolding for this. And Hyungwon never protests a bit of extra attention, pulling back only when he’s breathless and Hyunwoo’s scent still lingers on his mouth. “Be safe going home.”

 

            “I’ll try not to fall asleep in the train.” Hyungwon answers with a whine because that’s what Hyunwoo’s really implying. “Call me when you’re on your way from work.”

 

            “Alright.” It’s mumbled against Hyungwon’s forehead when Hyunwoo presses one more kiss to his hair. There are people staring, casting glances over their shoulders but Hyungwon stopped caring about the scrutiny months ago -- the desire to hold hands with Hyunwoo on the subway or kiss at the bus step has long since trumped receiving a few double-takes. Hyunwoo finally peels himself off Hyungwon when his phone rings, kissing his knuckles in a quiet goodbye while he turns around and answers.

 

            Two cats, Hyungwon thinks while he waits for his train, thumbs the picture of them smiling up on his lockscreen. Two cats is a good start.

 


End file.
